Je Ne Sais Quoi
by Frost Deejn
Summary: The body of an unknown man and two unconscious women are found after a fire at a posh beach house. Horatio and his team try to figure out what happened, and how it involved a former CSI named Sara Sidle.
1. The Scene

Je Ne Sais Quoi 

Disclaimer: I did not create and do not own _CSI: Miami_.

Chapter 1: The Scene

Smoke, ash, and steam billowed up from the remains of a beach front house.

Lieutenant Horatio Caine stepped out of his hummer and surveyed the scene. There were firemen dousing the smoldering ruins, an ambulance ambling in the driveway, paramedics and uniformed officers swarming the ground.

Horatio moved calmly through this chaos, like the eye of a hurricane.

"What do we know so far?" he asked Detective Frank Tripp, who arrived at the scene a minute or so earlier.

"Not much. A bunch of 911 calls started coming in a few minutes ago; dispatch is still trying to sort them out."

Horatio looked around at the nearby hotels and bars already busy in the early afternoon. "In this neighborhood, not much would go unseen. We're going to have witnesses."

"We've got survivors. Two women found unconscious behind the house. No ID on either. The firefighters say there's a dead man inside. Horatio, something went down here."

He looked over at the two women, both blood-soaked and motionless, being loaded onto the ambulance, then put on his sunglasses as he replied. "And I'm going to find out what."


	2. The Bodies

Chapter 2: The Bodies

Medical Examiner Alexx Woods knelt next to the severely burned body of the unidentified male.

"He should have had time to get out before the explosion if he was uninjured. With his body that charred, are you sure you can figure out what killed him?" Eric Delko asked from behind her.

"When have I ever let you down? It might take a while, but I'll give you something."

Tripp came up to them. "The arson investigators say the explosion was caused by a gas leak, but they don't know what caused it yet."

"There's a lot of rubble to sift through," Delko said. "Since the house collapsed, just finding the starting point is going to be tricky."

"Mm, you're going to be looking for something else, too." Alexx looked up at them. "COD wasn't as hard to find as you thought: this man has a bullet hole in the back of his head."

* * *

Horatio went to the hospital where Natalia Boa Vista and Ryan Wolfe were collecting evidence from the two living victims. 

Boa Vista was taking scrapings from the fingernails of one woman when Horatio entered. "Meet Jane Doe Number One," she said.

The woman in the hospital bed was in her thirties, slender, with dark brown hair, a pale complexion, and a somewhat haggard face. "Tell me about her," Horatio said.

"She was covered in blood, but her only injuries were the concussion and abrasions on her back and arms from the explosion. The doctors are going to keep her under until they're sure there's no swelling on her brain."

"Which means it will be a while before we'll get any answers from her, except what she can tell us from forensics. Any impressions on her involvement yet?"

"The blood all over her clothes and hands couldn't have been hers. I've sent it to DNA to find out if it belongs to our other Jane Doe or the John Doe. She could be the killer or just a good samaritan."

"The blood on her hands would have compromised any gun shot residue."

She looked up in mild surprise. "Who was shot?"

"The John Doe in the house. Was a gun found on either victim?"

"Not with the stuff the paramedics collected," she replied.

"Interesting."

Horatio went to the next hospital room, where Ryan Wolfe was photographing the injuries on Jane Doe Number 2..

"Talk to me, Mr. Wolfe."

"She has bruises and cuts on her face and chest, but curiously no defensive wounds. Vomit in her hair and mouth. She didn't have a concussion. The doctors think she was drugged."

"Any sign of how it was administered?"

"Not yet, but I've sent samples to trace that should tell us what she ate or drank recently."

"Good." He examined the young woman. She was in her late teens or early twenties. Her dark tan skin was marred with splotches and stitches, her generous lips puffy and split in several places. Ginger brown curls framed her pretty round face. The two Jane Does were clearly not related. Not by blood, anyway. "Did she have any abrasions from debris from the explosion?"

"Not that I've seen."

"That's curious. Any distinguishing marks or tattoos?"

"No. Her hands are calloused, and her fingernails are cut short, so I'm guessing she works in manual labor. A girl this pretty, I bet someone will be missing her."

"Yes. I imagine, Mr. Wolfe, that someone will be missing them both. Keep me updated."

* * *

"You were lucky you died fast, baby. The bullet was more merciful than the fire would have been." Alexx spoke soothingly to the burned remains on her table. She heard the door of the autopsy room open and didn't even have to look up to know it was Horatio. "I've confirmed the bullet as the cause of death," she stated. 

"Did you find anything to help us ID this man?"

"His fingerprints are too badly burned. We'll just have to hope his DNA is in the system."

"I'm on my way to see Valera now. Did he have any other injuries?"

"Pre-mortem, you mean? It's hard to tell, but I don't think so. He was a healthy man up until the bullet hit his head. Probably in his early thirties, Caucasian, five-foot ten."

"Thank you, Alexx. That's a start."

As he left, Alexx whispered to the victim. "Don't worry. We'll find out who you are and who did this to you. You're in the best of hands."


	3. Clues

Chapter 3: Clues

Horatio entered the DNA lab, where Maxine Valera was concentrating on a tiny vial of DNA Polymerase at the moment.

"Have you finished running the DNA from our three Does?"

"Yeah, I did." She smiled distractedly. "A crime scene with three unknown victims. That doesn't happen often."

"No it doesn't. Do we have a name for any of them yet?"

"No. They aren't related. I did find one thing weird: the woman your calling Jane Doe Number One, her teeshirt was soaked in Number Two's blood. I think she used it to put pressure on the other woman's wound. She was wearing a bikini underneath it, which means she probably just came from the beach or a pool, or she was on her way to one. Trace should be able to tell you where she was."

"So she was just passing by."

"I don't know. I found blood from John Doe on her right hand."

"Which means at some point she was inside the house, wasn't she. _After _John Doe was shot."

Delko poked his head in the DNA lab. "H., when you're done here, I think I might have found something."

"I'm done." He turned back to Valera. "Call me if you find any other surprises."

He followed Delko into the hallway. "What have you found?"

"We're still sifting through the rubble at the beach house, but Calleigh tracked down the guy who owns it. Apparently he just keeps it for the weekends and lives in a condo downtown during the week. He's on his way in. Arsenio Petersen. That name mean anything to you?"

"Not yet."

"The arson investigators determined the explosion was caused by a leak in a gas line that ran behind the kitchen, where John Doe was found. They say the rupture could easily have been caused by a bullet."

"Quite possibly the same bullet that killed John Doe. Have we recovered it yet?"

"No. But you know what this means, right? The fire could've been an accident."

"The fire could have been. But the shooting was not. Was that all?"

"One more thing. From the blood leading from the house to where the Jane Does were found, it looks like Jane Doe Number Two was dragged."

"That makes sense. She was drugged. Do we have photos of the scene before the paramedics moved the victims?"

He shook his head. "The ambulance was first on the scene, and they were more worried about saving the women's lives than figuring out what happened to them."

"Can you get me the names of the paramedics on the scene?"

"Sure. What are you looking for?"

"Jane Doe Number Two was drugged and beaten. Number One wasn't."

"You think she could have been the shooter?"

"I think she had a reason for being there."

"Well, whether John Doe was trying to kill the girl and Jane Doe Number One rescued her, or Jane Doe Number One was trying to kill the girl and John Doe interrupted them and got shot for it...H., we may never know exactly what happened in that house."

"Then we'll just have to figure out who these people are, and which one of them is capable of murder, won't we Eric."

* * *

Calleigh sat across the table from Arsenio Petersen. He was in his mid-thirties, had dark brown hair, a receding hairline, and a goatee. He was clearly not happy. 

"I swear that I don't know anything about this. Someone blew up my house! Do you think I'd have anything to do with that?"

"It was insured, wasn't it Mr. Petersen?"

"Of course it was, but still...I loved that house, and the property values in that neighborhood are skyrocketing."

"Can you tell me if you recognize either of these lovely young ladies?" she asked, showing him the pictures of the two Jane Does.

He put on a pair of glasses and examined the photos. "No I don't. Who are they?"

"They were found outside the fire. And a dead man was found inside. Did anyone else have keys to your beach house?"

"I don't even have a maid. I'm really careful about that kind of thing." He sighed and rubbed his forehead.

Calleigh's eyebrows rose. He seemed more upset about the fire than he should have been. "Was there anything in that house that had a lot of sentimental value? Or...monetary value?"

"I had that house built as a gift for myself when I made my first million five years ago. The _house _had both sentimental and monetary value."

"You know, I looked into your financial records, Mr. Petersen, to see if you had any pressing need for that insurance payout. You've really done well for yourself the past few years. What exactly do you do?"

"I'm an investor. I have stock in a number of nightclubs and restaurants, as well as a hotel and cruise line. As you noted, I'm doing very well for myself. I definitely don't need that insurance money."

"True, but there's one thing that seems odd to me. Seven years ago you started by putting $340,000 in a new nightclub in Virginia Gardens. I can't for the life of me figure out where the money for that initial investment came from."

He stared at her for a second, then asked "What in hell does that have to do with my house burning down?"

"Maybe nothing. Why don't you tell me?"

"Absolutely nothing. Can I go now?" He stood up.

"We'll keep in touch, Mr. Petersen."

* * *

Horatio's cellphone buzzed. He checked the name and flipped it open. "You have something for me, Frank?" 

"Yeah. After sorting through sixteen different 911 calls from the area for this morning, we've figured out people reported the gunshot about four minutes before the fire. A lifeguard at the beach across the street saw a woman with a gun run toward the sound of the shot."

"Could be our Jane Doe Number One. _That _puts a different spin on things. I would like to question that lifeguard."

* * *

Horatio met Frank at the beach. The blackened rubble of the house surrounded by yellow crimescene tape was visible further up the beach. 

"Horatio, this is the lifeguard, Fred Nakano."

The young man looked nervous. Horatio took off his sunglasses and gave him his disarming smile. "You were here for the shooting, son?" he asked.

"Yeah. I was up in the chair. I thought it was just a car backfiring or something, but this woman...as soon as she heard it, she grabbed a gun, shouted to call 911, and ran over."

"Did you see anything across the street from that tall chair there?" Tripp inquired.

"You know, I didn't even think about it. I was freaked out by that beach babe having a gun. I really didn't think anyone'd been shot. And then there was the fire a few minutes later, and..." he shook his head. "I didn't notice anyone. I thought that chick was dead. I didn't know what to think."

"Yeah, that showed in your 911 call."

Horatio talked over the last part of Tripp's sentence. "Did you know the woman with the gun?"

"She's been coming here for a few days now. I think she must be staying in one of the hotels."

"What did she look like?"

"Um...dark hair. Kind of skinny. I didn't really look closely at her. She only went in the water a couple of times, and she's not as young as a lot of the girls who hang out here. Most of the time she just lied on her towel and read."

"What was she wearing when she left this morning?"

"A teeshirt and shorts, I think. She'd just gotten here a few minutes before. She hadn't even put out her towel yet. A couple of hours ago, someone turned in a bag to lost and found. I think it's the one she left when she ran toward the shooting."

"Could I take a look at that, Mr. Nakano?"

"Sure. Right this way."

The lifeguard brought a large gym bag. Horatio pulled on gloves and opened it. "Let's see...towel, sunscreen, snack food, a book, a case of beer...no cellphone, no wallet, no ID."

"No hotel keycard?" Tripp asked.

"No hotel keycard. She could have had it in her pocket and lost it at the house." He pulled out the book. "_Falling Flowers: Poems on Death._"

"Who brings a book of death poems to read on a beach in Miami?" Tripp wondered.

"A book of death poems and a gun," he mused. "Yes...'who' is the question."


	4. The Gun

Chapter 4: The Gun

"Is it just me, or does H seem really caught up in this case?" Wolfe asked as he sifted through ashes at the crimescene.

"No more than usual," Delko replied. "I think he's just frustrated that we're not getting anywhere. There hasn't been a single missing person's report filed since the murder."

"Well, it's only been a little over twenty-four hours." Ryan uncovered a shriveled chunk of plastic in the cinders. "I think I found a...credit card or something. I can't make out any words on it."

"We might be able to get something off the magnetic strip back at the lab." He suddenly sat back.

"You find something good?" Ryan asked.

"Yeah. Calleigh will be happy: 9-mil handgun. This could be our murder weapon."

* * *

Boa Vista caught up with Horatio in the hall outside the trace lab. "Hey. We got the tox report back on Jane Doe Number Two. Gamma hydroxybutyrate." 

"GHB. Dangerous stuff. An overdose can induce a coma."

"And it's easy to manufacture. No way to find where it came from."

"This explains why Jane Doe Number Two had no defensive wounds."

"Her SAE kit came back clean. No sign of any recent sexual activity. Her only injuries were from blunt force trauma."

"But who would drug someone just to beat them, I wonder?"

She shook her head. "And why? It doesn't make sense. If he wanted to kill her, there were definitely easier ways. And if it was just about rage, he probably would have wanted her awake and screaming."

"It's something to think about. Was there anything else in her tox report?"

"She didn't have any alcohol in her system, which is how GHB is usually delivered. From traces in her vomit, it looks like her last meal consisted of coffee and a chocolate pastry. Doesn't exactly narrow it down. Was there anything on her clothes that could help identify her?"

"Not that we've found yet. We still have three blanks on who our victims might be."

Calleigh's melodious voice intruded on their conversation. "Did someone say 'blanks'? Because that's not what I've been shooting."

Horatio turned to her with raised eyebrows. "The gun found at the crimescene? You got a hit off the bullets?"

"Not the bullets, the gun. It was registered."

"To whom?"

She smiled teasingly. "I know the Jane Does' prints didn't get a hit in AFIS, but did you think to run them through the law enforcement database?"

"The state database, but not nationally. One of our victims is a cop?"

"Even better: a CSI." She handed him a photo. "Is this our Jane Doe Number One?"

Horatio took the photo. A smile bent his lips. "Jane Doe no longer. Sara Sidle, Las Vegas Crime Lab."


	5. The Bullet

Chapter 5: The Bullet

The Suma Hotel, a couple of blocks from the crimescene, was an inconspicuous building set away from the road and surrounded by a garden. It was clean, well-maintained, and pretty, with white walls and an adobe tile roof.

Once they had a name, it had been easy as a phone call to find the hotel where Sara Sidle had been staying. Horatio and Boa Vista were checking into it, even though it was unlikely they'd find anything probative.

"I wondered why I didn't see her yesterday," said Ofelia Shiyama, who managed the hotel. "But she usually does keep to herself."

"Did she happen to tell you why she came to Miami, Ms. Shiyama?" Boa Vista inquired.

"She said she came for the sunshine," the petite, middle-aged Brazilian woman answered.

Horatio took off his sunglasses. "Did Miss Sidle receive any visitors?"

"No. She went out clubbing a couple of times, but she always came back alone. She spent a lot of time in the garden and on the beach. She seemed cheerful enough when she was around people, but whenever I saw her when she thought she was alone, she looked quite sad." She opened the door to Room 19. "Just come find me when you're done, or if you have more questions."

"Thank you, Ms. Shiyama. We'll do that."

Boa Vista walked in a circle, taking in the small, sparse room. "Interesting reading list," she remarked, pointing to a stack of books on the bedside table. "_Moby Dick, Floating Clouds, World War II in Historical Context, Tale of Two Cities, Shakespeare's Sonnets, Japanese Love Poems, _and..." she picked up the final title to brandish like a prize in a game show, "the current issue of _The Journal of Forensic Science. _Some people don't seem to get the concept of a vacation."

"If," Horatio added, "she was on vacation."

Boa Vista moved on to the trash can. "Let's see...food wrappers, a newspaper...beer bottles. No notes or letters. No sign she knew Jane Doe or John Doe or anyone else, for that matter."

"No contact information."

"Should we call her office to let them know what happened?"

"Not yet. I want to have some answers before we do anything."

They finished searching the hotel room, and walked out into the sunlight.

She shook her head. "So what are we thinking? That a guy beat a girl who was already unconscious, someone shot a gun, and a vacationing CSI gets herself mixed up in it? Something about this doesn't feel right."

"Murder never does."

* * *

Delko was examining the blackened items spread out on the evidence table when Horatio walked in. 

"Find anything in that CSI's hotel room?" he asked.

"Only more indications that she wasn't directly involved. You found something?"

"The bullet. I already sent it to Calleigh. I also found two cellphones that I sent down to computers to see if they can pull anything off them, a set of keys, the remains of a leather wallet with money but no credit cards or ID inside, and this." He held up an evidence bag with a small chunk of melted plastic. "It was on the kitchen table, and it had high concentrations of GHB in it. That it survived the fire at all means it probably also contained some water, but there were nothing else in it that Trace could find."

"It's too small to be a water bottle. What is that?"

"I'll let you know when I figure it out."

"Thanks, Eric."

He walked out as his cellphone rang. "Caine," he answered.

"It's me," said Tripp. "Thought you might want to know, a cab driver came forward to say that a few minutes before the explosion he saw a car drive up to the house, a man get out of the back seat carrying Jane Doe Number Two, and the car drive off. He was about a block away at the time, so he didn't get a real good look at the man, and he didn't see who was driving the car, or the license plate number, and he doesn't remember what model the car was, but he's pretty sure it was black and pretty beat-up looking. He left before he could see anything else."

"Thanks Frank." He flipped the phone closed. It was still frustratingly little to go on.

He took a few more steps down the hall when his phone rang again. "Yes?"

It was Calleigh. "Just wanted to let you know I ran the bullet they found at the crimescene against one from Sidle's gun. No match. Bullet doesn't match any other known crimes, either."

"And we didn't find another gun in the house..."

"And John Doe was shot in the back of the head. Call me biased, but I can't imagine any CSI shooting an apparently unarmed man from behind. Horatio, there was someone else in that house."

"I'm beginning to conclude that. Which means we still have a suspect on the loose. A killer no one has seen, and none of the evidence identifies."

"I can tell you he used a handgun. Nine-mil, nothing fancy. I'll let you know if I find anything else."

As soon as Calleigh hung up, Horatio noticed he had a voice mail.

"Mr. Caine, this is Dr. Whitley from Jackson Memorial. One of your blast victims has regained consciousness."


	6. The Witness

Chapter 6: The Witness

Sara didn't open her eyes yet. She was concentrating on suppressing her headache.

There were voices. "She woke up an hour ago. We gave her a pain reliever cocktail and she fell asleep. There's no telling when she'll be coming back around."

"Did she say anything?" The voice was rough, throaty, masculine, and sent shivers down Sara's spine.

"She kept mumbling that she was sorry. That was all."

The familiar odors of disinfectants told her she was in a hospital.

"And the other one?"

"Still in a coma. Medically, there's nothing we can do for her but wait. If her condition changes..."

"You'll know where to find me."

A door closed. She waited a moment before opening her eyes.

Light came through the window. Sunlight. Daylight. Falling on a man who wasn't dressed like a doctor. He had bright red hair, a ruddy complexion. His face was lined, but not with age. It was rugged, yet gentle. He looked at her, and didn't seem surprised that she was awake. "Welcome back, Miss Sidle."

"Do I know you?" She barely recognized her own voice, weak and thready.

"Not yet, but I am a friend. Horatio Caine, Miami CSI."

Caine...Horatio Caine.

_"Charming, competent, smooth. Way more intimidating than Grissom. And kind of cute, in an alpha-dog kind of way," Catherine said, relating her adventure in Miami._

_Sara noted he didn't sound like her type at all. She like her bosses approachable, playful, and cute in a puppy-dog kind of way._

_"He's a great CSI. His team seemed really professional. And you should have seen their lab!" _

"I've heard of you," she said.

"Good things, I hope."

She smiled, but stopped when the movement sent a pain shooting through her head. She frowned instead, trying to put the memories leading up to waking in a hospital bed in some kind of order. "What happened?"

"I was hoping that you could tell me. There was a fire at Arsenio Petersen's beach house. A man we haven't yet identified was found dead with a bullet wound in his head. You and a Jane Doe were outside. Is any of this coming back to you? Anything you remember would be invaluable."

She thought for a moment, then with a pained grunt pushed herself into a sitting position. Horatio Caine was at her side in an instant. "You shouldn't try to get up until Dr. Whitley tells you to," he said with concern.

"I'm fine. I just hate hospitals," she added to herself.

"Miss Sidle, is there anyone you'd like me to call?"

"No!" she said, too quickly and too forcefully. "There's no one...I want to worry about me." If Gil found out what happened, he would drop everything and be on the next flight to Miami.

He nodded. "As you wish."

"She was beat up badly," she said suddenly.

He looked at her, and waited for her to continue.

"Recently, possibly only a few minutes earlier. The bruises were red. They didn't have time to darken. It looked like she'd been hit and punched. I didn't see a weapon."

"Was the door unlocked?" Horatio asked.

She rubbed her eyes. "The front door was open. I pushed it open...it was ajar. The lock didn't look broken. The room was tidy. That's odd for a domestic incident. Usually things get thrown or knocked over." Her eyes flew open and she stared at him. "'Jane Doe'...'unlocked'...it wasn't a domestic incident, was it? I guessed they were father and daughter, but there's more to this than you're telling me."

"Just tell me what you remember."

"Right...I'm a witness. You're not supposed to influence...to bias the witness." She sighed and gave up her pretense of being fine and lowered herself back to the pillow. "I saw the girl first. She's lying on the floor. At first I think she's dead...because of the gunshot, but she's breathing. I left the door open and ran to check her injuries. That's when I saw the man beside the table. There's too much blood to see where he's wounded. It has to be a head-shot. I didn't think he could have survived, but I've known people to live through all sorts of things that should have killed them. I make sure the girl's still breathing. I go to him to check his pulse - his...lack of pulse, I should say - careful not to step in the blood and glass; it's evidence. That's when I noticed the smell of natural gas...the place could blow any minute. I had to get her out of there. She didn't look like she had any broken bones, so I dragged her as quickly as I could to the lawn...don't remember what happened next."

"You mentioned glass. What glass?"

"Broken glass...on the kitchen floor...from the window." She closed her eyes again. "The shooter must have been outside the window. One bullet hole in the wall. I only heard one shot. I figured it had to be a through-and-through."

"That's what we've determined," he confirmed. "Did you see anyone fleeing the scene?"

"No. I didn't see the shooter. But..." Images of the crimescene flashed through her head as though they were photographs: the pieces of glass clinging to the window frame, the man on the floor, the bullet hole in the wall. "From the position of the bullet hole, I'd say the shooter was a man of average hight or a tall woman, standing right outside the kitchen window. The victim was facing the girl; he wouldn't have seen the shooter...didn't see it coming. Were there any footprints outside that window?" She opened her eyes and looked at him, then let a ghost of a smile make a brief appearance on her lips. "Oh, right. You can't discuss an ongoing investigation with a witness. Or am I a suspect?"

He smiled, but it struck her as an odd smile, directed more inwardly than at her. First he raised his head, then lowered it, tilting to the side, and a single soundless chuckle rippled across his body. "No, Miss Sidle, you've already been cleared, but you are our only witness to what happened in that house before the fire."

She nodded. "It reminds me of a case I worked in San Francisco. A serial killer burned the bodies of his victims so it was hard to identify them..." she trailed off and glanced away. That was one of the cases she never talked about. The painkillers must have been affecting her judgment.

"Are you sure you remember the crimescene clearly?"

"Yes. Flashbulb memory: fear stimulates the amygdala, which is the part of the brain largely responsible for emotions, to strengthen the memories being formed so that anything that reminds you of that event can trigger a powerful, detailed, highly emotional flashback. It's what causes post-traumatic stress disorder."

"You seem to know a lot about PTSD."

She shrugged. "I'm a CSI; it comes up." She frowned as she realized that she should have used the past tense for that statement.

"That it does," he agreed, his distracted eyes indicating that perhaps he knew from personal experience. "Well, if you think of anything else..." he put his card on her bedside table.

"And if you have any more questions, I'll be here. I'll go down to your station to give a description of John Doe to a sketch artist as soon as they release me."

"That won't be necessary; I'll send a sketch artist to you."

"Okay, but you'd better do it soon. I want to be out of here as soon as possible." She glanced around her room. "I really hate hospitals."

"I know the feeling." He stood, then looked at her hesitantly for a moment before saying "Thank you" and walking out.

Sara closed her eyes. She waited for it to sink in that she'd come close to death once again. It didn't. She wondered why: maybe without Gil's shoulder to cry on she subconsciously decided she had to cope, to handle it herself, no matter what. Or maybe she just didn't care anymore.

Maybe.

* * *

Horatio put on his sunglasses, more out of habit that necessity, as he exited the hospital. He still had so many questions for Sara Sidle, not all of them directly related to the case: Why did she risk her life by running into a dangerous situation instead of calling the police? Why did she seem so unfazed by her near-death experience? Why had she come to Miami? But this wasn't the time to ask, and he had no reason to believe she'd give him honest answers.

Back at the lab, he looked in on Boa Vista to see if there was any progress on the case.

"Can you believe that out of all the witnesses who called in a 911 about the fire, no one remembers seeing anyone fleeing the scene?"

"Not that surprising; everyone was focused on the fire. Did we find any footprints outside the kitchen window?"

"The kitchen window? No. We weren't really looking. Should we?"

"Sidle said there was glass in the kitchen before the fire, that the kitchen window had been shot out."

"I'll call Eric and have him check out the ground outside the kitchen. That early in the morning, it would have been wet with dew, muddy. We might get lucky."

"Look into it. Thank you."

When he walked away, Calleigh approached him. "I checked up on Arsenio Petersen's alibi: he was in an early morning stockholders' meeting at the time of the fire. A dozen witnesses and an office security camera vouch for that. The house could have been chosen at random."

"Could be, but a witness saw a car drop two people off at that house and drive away. If a criminal was choosing a house at random, why in that neighborhood?"

"Who knows? But so far, Petersen's coming up clean. As clean as a Miami businessman can look, anyway. Did you talk to Sara Sidle in the hospital?"

"Yes I did."

"How was she?"

"A reliable witness," he said as he walked away.


	7. The Note

Chapter 7: The Note

"Man's size nine. The sole was really worn, you can't even tell the tread pattern. It looks like there was just one guy, though." Eric yawned. He'd been up early working on finding shoe prints in the grass. "It looks like he ran to the crime scene, and then walked away."

"That's unusual," Horatio observed.

"That's what the evidence is telling us."

"It's as if the killer was more concerned with getting there than getting away."

"If he had a vehicle, no one saw or heard it. No fingerprints, no witnesses. The shooter could be anyone. Until we can ID the victims..."

"We're getting closer to that as we speak. We have a description of the male victim."

* * *

Calleigh walked up to Arsenio Petersen as he left his office. "Mr. Petersen," she called. 

"What now. I'm kind of busy."

"This will only take a moment. I was wondering if you recognize this man." She held up a sketch made from Sara Sidle's description of John Doe.

Arsenio peered at it, looking irritated. The man in the picture was average build with a round face, medium brown hair, and a mole on his left cheek. "This is the guy who died in my house?"

"Do you recognize him?"

"I've never seen him before in my life. What the heck was he doing in my house?"

"We don't know yet, Mr. Petersen."

He shook his head and continued walking, mumbling "You cops..."

Calleigh had detected a slight rise in the pitch of his voice when he said he didn't recognize the man, which could have indicated a lie. But it wasn't enough to be sure. If he was a liar, he was a practiced one.

* * *

Sara, finally out of that horrible hospital gown, leaned against Jane Doe's hospital bed and looked down at the girl. The doctor hadn't wanted to release her quite yet, but Sara had insisted. Not that she really had anywhere to go. 

Horatio entered the room silently, and saw the contemplative look on Sara's face. He had to look twice. Earlier, she'd struck him as rather plain, but now her pale face seemed shockingly beautiful, lit by some ethereal inner light. "I thought I might find you here."

She looked up at him, and her lips quirked with a quick smile that didn't show her teeth. "Hi," she said.

"I called to check up on you, and they told me you checked out."

"Like I said, I don't like hospitals."

"And yet you're still here."

She looked down at Jane Doe. "Any idea who she is yet?" she asked sadly, compassionately.

"Not yet."

"I wish there was more I could do." The frustrating thing, for Sara, was that she felt like there was something she could do, like she could have discovered Jane Doe's identity. That's what she did. She was a CSI, a good one. _Was. _Past tense.

Horatio saw Sara's conflict. "Miss Sidle, I have a proposition for you."

She looked back at him, expectant.

"Come to work for me on this case, as an outside consultant."

The offer jarred her. She had left CSI work because it was making her sick inside. She'd left Las Vegas to find herself. What would it do to that quest if she took this case? On the other hand, she wanted to help Jane Doe. She was consumed with the desire to at least give the girl a name. "Okay," she said. "I'm in."

* * *

"Cath wasn't kidding," Sara remarked, looking around the Miami Crime Lab. "This place is amazing. It's so modern and...bright." 

"I'm glad you approve," Horatio said.

They walked into a room where Ryan was gingerly gluing together pieces of glass on a table top. He looked up at them. "Wow. You look way better conscious," he said to Sara.

"Um...thanks?"

Horatio smiled, then looked at the table. "What do we have here?"

"A glass cup. It was in the general vicinity of the kitchen table. Trace found GHB on it"

Sara took a step forward and looked at the pieces of curved glass pensively. "It was on the table. There was what looked like water in it. Half empty."

"For my part, I see the glass as half full," Horatio remarked.

"But it's the missing half that was used in the crime," Sara pointed out.

"And it's what's left behind that tells the story," Horatio countered.

Ryan's eyebrows raised at the banter. "Maybe you should save the philosophical discussion for later. We have a crime to solve," he reminded them.

"True. Miss Sidle, do you remember anything else about the glass?"

"It was on a coaster. It made me think whoever put it there lived in the house, or at least was familiar with it." Her eyes drifted closed as she pictured the crimescene again. "The kitchen table was glass, clean. Beside the glass was a wallet, keys, a cellphone...Hey did any of you find my cellphone at the crimescene? I seem to have misplaced it."

"Probably, but I don't think you'll be making any more calls on it for a while; it was pretty melted," Ryan joked.

"That figures. There was something else on the table, something that didn't make sense."

"What?" Horatio questioned.

"It looked like some kind of shampoo bottle or lotion bottle, the small kind they have in hotel bathrooms. There was some kind of liquid in it, but it was almost empty."

Ryan glanced up at Horatio. "That plastic that Eric found..."

"That was used to carry the GHB solution. Miss Sidle, think carefully, was there a label on the bottle?"

"Yes. It was shiny, green...'Green' something. 'Green Flash,' maybe."

"There's a Green Flash Motel on Tuttle Boulevard," Ryan recalled. "That's only a couple of miles from the crimescene."

"Now _that_, my friend, is a lead," Horatio said as he walked away, pulling out his cellphone. "Frank, meet me at the Green Flash Motel on Tuttle Boulevard."

Sara watched him walk away with a raised eyebrow. "Does he always do that?" she asked Ryan.

"Do what?"

"Say something obvious in such a way that it sounds profound?"

"It's kind of what he does."

* * *

The Green Flash Motel was a two-story whitewashed building in a gritty neighborhood. The manager, a dark-haired skinny man wearing a stained white teeshirt, looked up when Frank and Horatio entered. "What can I do for you gentlemen?" he inquired mockingly.

"We're looking for this man. We have reason to believe he's stayed here recently." Frank held up a sketch of John Doe.

The man with his feet up on the desk didn't even look at it. "Nope. Can't say I've seen him."

"Sir, this man is dead and you may be one of the last people to see him alive; I strongly suggest you cooperate with us," Horatio said.

He huffed and looked disdainfully at Frank's uniform. "And my business sense strongly suggests I don't get involved."

"Does you business sense tell you anything about what would happen to your profits if we sweep this place for illegal drug use?" Frank asked.

The manager took the hint and a better look at the sketch. "Actually, that may be the guy in B-04. Just a sec." He led them to a room on the ground floor. "This guy paid in cash. He said he didn't want to be disturbed at all. I never did catch his name." He unlocked the door and gestured them inside.

Horatio noted bottles and cups assembled next to the bathroom sink. "All the ingredients to make GHB." The next thing to grab his attention was a large, bulky gym bag next to the bed. He pulled on latex gloves and opened it. "Hm. Three guns, extra ammo, and some components for a small explosive."

Frank checked in the drawer and closet. "It doesn't look like he planned on being here for long. One change of clothes. Nothing that can ID him." He emptied the garbage can. "Junk food wrappers, take-out boxes...Hold on. It looks like he got pretty mad at this piece of paper." He pulled out a tightly balled notebook page, which he handed to Horatio.

He gently tugged it open. "This is something. Frank, tell me if this sounds like a threat to you." He handed the note back to him. On it was written one sentence in small but clear handwriting:

Leave her alone or I will kill you.


	8. Palimpsest

Chapter 8: Palimpsest

Sara found her way to the documents room, where a woman with beige brown hair and skin of nearly the same shade was concentrating on a computer screen. "What are you working on?" she asked.

The woman looked up. "Sara Sidle," she said in greeting. "I'm Natalia Boa Vista, the CSI who processed you."

"Nice to meet you." Sara shook the other woman's hand, even though the sound of Natalia's first name sent an icy chill through her veins. "Lieutenant Caine brought me in to help with the case."

"So I heard." With the introduction out of the way, Boa Vista answered her question. "Jane Doe had some undigested food in her vomit, indicating she ate right before being drugged and beaten. I figured if I can figure out what she ate I might be able to find _where _she ate. I'm trying to match the ingredients to known...pastries."

Sara smiled at the explanation. "Too bad there's no pastry data base. Mind if I take a look?"

"Sure." Boa Vista handed her a printout of the components of the food in question. "The lab also determined the coffee she drank was spiked with GHB, and it was mixed with chocolate, so I'm guessing she'd just been at a coffee shop."

"There was a glass of water at the crime scene that also contained GHB. No wonder it almost killed her."

"The guy must've been really worried about her waking up."

Sara nodded as she read off the list of ingredients. "Sugar, cocoa, cream, eggs, butter, coconut...walnuts, vanilla, custard powder...I know what this is."

Boa Vista turned to her, waiting eagerly.

"Nanaimo bar."

"A what?"

"It's a Canadian dessert. I wonder if there are any coffee shops in the area that sell it." In response to Boa Vista's raised eyebrows, she shrugged. "I had a roommate in college from British Columbia," she explained.

* * *

"How is it coming, Mr. Wolfe?" Horatio asked, entering a room where Ryan had just finished reassembling as much of the shot-out window as he could. 

"So far, all the evidence is backing up Sara's account."

"I had no doubt."

"Did you find anything at the motel?"

"As a matter of fact, we did: a bag of weapons for Calleigh to process and a rather intriguing message."

"Who was the message to?"

"Judging by its contents, I'm guessing our dead man. The note is being processed for fingerprints as we speak."

Natalia and Sara walked in a moment later. "Horatio, you're back. We've identified Jane Doe's last meal as mocha and a Nanaimo bar. We called around and found three coffee shops within a few miles of the crimescene that carry Nanaimo bars. Sara and I were just going to go check them out."

Horatio smiled. "Good. But why don't you take Mr. Wolfe with you instead."

"Okay," she said. After a moment of reflection, she decided Horatio wanted to keep Sara out of the field, since technically she was only a consultant on the case.

"Miss Sidle, will you come with me, please?"

"Sure," she responded. She wasn't happy about not being able to follow her lead, but she was happy that Horatio wanted her with him. More happy than she would admit even to herself.

* * *

"Horatio was _flirting _with her?" Natalia asked incredulously. 

"I swear. He was practically ogling her."

She laughed. "I wish I'd seen _that._"

They parked outside the ironically named Snow Mountain Coffeehouse, which was owned by Jon and Lucy Chan, immigrants from Vancouver, British Columbia.

The place was nearly empty when they walked in. A young man with spiked black hair and small light brown eyes smiled at them from behind the counter. "Hi. What can I get for you?"

"We're from Miami-Dade PD," Ryan said. "We're just wondering if you've ever seen this girl in here." He handed him a photo of Jane Doe.

He took the picture. His lip parted with a dismayed frown and his eyes shook. "Yeah," he said after a moment of silent shock. "She stops in here almost every day. She has a half-hour wait between buses on her way to work. The bus stop's right across the street."

Natalia's shoulders relaxed with her relief. "What's her name?"

"I don't...I never asked her. You know, you don't really ask a customer's name, especially after you get to know them. You just chat."

"Do you know where she lives? Where she works?"

"I know she's a mechanic," he said. "I thought that was really cool, and it was really funny that she fixed cars for a living but she took a bus to work. I don't know where, though."

"When's the last time you saw her?" Ryan inquired.

He thought for a moment. "The day before yesterday, I think. She was one of the first customers of the day. She said her mocha tasted salty, but no one else complained."

Natalia looked up quickly. "Salty?"

"Yeah. Salty."

"GHB tastes salty," Ryan mumbled.

Natalia nodded, then she addressed the barista again. "Do you remember anyone else in here when she was here?"

"There was a guy with a shaved head. He looked like he was about thirty. He might have been Cuban. He got here first thing in the morning, and then just stayed. Also...he'd been getting refills of drip coffee for about an hour, but then when this girl ordered a medium mocha latte, he told me to make two."

"Did he talk to her at all?" Ryan inquired.

"Yeah. She sat down by the window, where she usually sits. He walked over to her and told her she had pretty hair. I was a little weirded out by that, and I think she was, too, even though I'm sure she was used to that kind of thing. She really does have gorgeous hair."

"Did he put his cup down on the table, next to hers?"

"I didn't notice. Probably. First, though, another thing I thought was weird...he put sugar in his mocha. I almost threw up just thinking about it. Who does that?"

"Are you sure it was sugar?" Ryan asked.

"Well...he was over there by the sugar packets, and he stirred something into the coffee. He had his back to me, but then I saw him throw away one of the pink sugar packets."

"Has that garbage been thrown out since then?" he asked quickly.

The young barista shakily shook his head. "I don't think so. We usually throw the garbage out twice a week, and I just put in a new garbage bag before opening that morning."

"We'll need to take the garbage as evidence."

"Sure. Anything else I can help with?"

"Yeah," Natalia said. "Did he follow her out?"

"He left a couple of minutes before she did."

"What time was that?"

"Uh...a little before 8:15; that's when the girl catches her bus." He hesitated, then asked, "Is she going to be alright?"

Natalia knew she shouldn't discuss the case, but she could tell how worried the young man was. "We don't know yet."

Ryan took the nearly full black garbage bag as he walked out of the cafe.

"Are we going to print all the sugar packets in there?"

"Maybe not," he said. "Just the one that isn't open. He probably grabbed a sugar packet for show, mixed in the GHB, then tossed the package without opening it."

"He doesn't fit the description of John Doe, though."

"I know." He frowned thoughtfully. "Something weird is going on here."

* * *

"This is way cooler than our AV Lab!" Sara exclaimed at the sight of the Miami Crime Lab's computer system. 

"You don't even want to think about the price tag," the audio-visual tech told her.

"I think I already did."

"You said you found something?" Horatio asked.

"John Doe's cellphone was prepaid and untraceable. It didn't have any names in it, but a couple of numbers kept coming up. One of them was the home phone of Arsenio Petersen. The other one was another nameless cell."

"So Arsenio was lying when he said he didn't know the victim."

"That's what it looks like," she confirmed.

"No surprise there. Thank you."

"Anytime. I'm still trying to recover some deleted data. I'll call you if I dig anything up."

* * *

"Two!" Calleigh shouted before firing two shots. 

"Impressive."

She turned to see Sara Sidle standing next to Horatio. "Thanks," she said to Sara. "I hear you haven't been doing too badly, yourself."

Sara wasn't sure how to respond to the Southerner's praise. Horatio noticed and spoke first. "Have you found anything from the guns?"

"They were reported stolen from a gun show seven years ago, along with two other firearms. One of those other guns was confiscated from an attempted gas station robbery two years ago. The robber, George Merlo, pled guilty and is serving out his time in the state pen. He said in his confession that he bought the gun in a back-alley deal. I'm going to question him first thing in the morning, see if he connects to any of the players in the case, but it will probably be another dead end."

"Calleigh, you know that a dead end is only a dead end until you find a door. Is there anything else?"

"Maybe. Can I talk to you in private for a moment?"

"Of course. Miss Sidle, could you wait outside please."

Sara nodded and walked to the door. She figured they would be talking about her.

Calleigh waited until Sara was out of earshot. "How's Miss Sidle working out?" she inquired.

Horatio blinked. "Fine. She's a good investigator."

"She seems reliable to you?"

"Very. Do you have reason to think otherwise?"

"I pulled her records, just to be on the safe side. Did you hear about the CSI in Las Vegas who was abducted by a serial killer last year?"

"Of course."

"Well, Miss Sidle had a medical leave of absence around that same time."

"And you think she is that CSI."

"She left her crime lab suddenly a few months ago. There must have been a reason."

He nodded. "I checked her record before asking for her help, and came to the same conclusion. I appreciate your misgivings, but I haven't seen any indication that her judgment is impaired."

"Just keep an eye on her."

"I am," he assured her.

* * *

Horatio and Sara went to the Questioned Documents Lab, where the QD tech was examining the note under a microscope, with Eric hovering nearby. 

"Miss Sidle, this is Eric Delko and Cynthia Wells."

"Hi," she said.

"Hey." Eric shook her hand, then turned toward Horatio. "There were two sets of prints on the paper, not counting the footprint. I'm guessing the note was shoved under the door and John Doe stepped on it when he walked in. Neither set of prints got a hit on AFIS."

"Did we get anything else off the note?"

"Did we ever," Cynthia said. "You know how writing on the top sheet will leave impressions on several pages under it? There were no impressions like that. None. But there were smudges left from pencil marks. Something was actually written on this paper and erased before the death threat. Looks like the killer's a cheapskate."

"Were you able to reconstruct it?" Sara asked.

"Yes. An address. 'Cinder. 4506 Coquina Street, Room 38, 6 p.m. Sunday.'"

"That tells us a lot," Sara sighed.

"Coquina Street, that's right in the middle of the Golden Triangle," Horatio mused.

"The what?"

"Only the most dangerous corner of Miami," Eric explained. "Gangs and gangsters own the place."

"And that," said Horatio, "is our next stop."


	9. The Fingerprint

Chapter 9: The Fingerprint

Orange dawn illuminated the city when Horatio approached his hummer. Always vigilant, he subconsciously picked up some subtle cue that he wasn't alone in the early morning. His hand rested on his gun, but he didn't draw it. Then he saw her, leaning against the oversized vehicle.

"Miss Sidle," he said, taking his hand off his gun. "May I ask what you're doing here?"

She pushed away from the car stepped toward him. "You're going to the Golden Triangle, aren't you?"

"Yes I am."

"I'm going with you."

He looked at the ground and shifted his feet before looking back up at her and answering. "That's not going to happen, Ma'am."

She smiled at him, somewhat defiantly. "You're not taking a cop, are you? That would be like carrying around a target. Are you taking one of your CSIs?"

"It's a very dangerous neighborhood," he answered evasively.

"I know. You don't want one of your team to get hurt. Well, I'm not on your team."

"Which is precisely why you can't accompany me. I can't be responsible for your safety."

"_I _can take care of myself. I'm volunteering to go."

He didn't know why she was insisting; she understood the risks. Perhaps this was the lapse in judgment Calleigh worried about. She might have wanted to prove to herself that she could face a dangerous situation again. That could lead her to take unnecessary risks. Or it could be exactly what she needed to work through whatever issues her recent ordeal left her with.

"If you don't take me with you, I'll just follow you," she threatened.

"You're very stubborn," he noted neutrally.

She nodded. "Yeah."

He unlocked the car and they both got in. He handed her a gun. "Don't draw this unless you have to, let me do the talking, and if I tell you to run, run."

"Got it."

* * *

"This is the third time you've talked to me, and you still have nothing," Arsenio Petersen complained.

"That's not strictly true. We've determined the victim in your house called your phone number more than once. You told us you didn't recognize him. You lied to us, Mr. Petersen," Calleigh said.

"Even if my client spoke to this man over the phone, you can't prove he'd ever met him," Petersen's lawyer pointed out.

"I talk to a lot of people over the phone for business reasons. I don't even know which one of those he might have been," Petersen added.

"You don't really expect us to believe that, do you? If you know anything you're not telling us, then you're going to be charged with obstructing justice."

He hesitated, then said, "Can I consult with my lawyer in private for a moment?"

"Sure."

Calleigh went to the observation room, where Eric had been watching.

"Even if he didn't know anything about the shooting, Arsenio Petersen is definitely hiding something," he noted.

"But we'll get him."

"Maybe Petersen hired John Doe to do a job for him, and something went wrong."

"If that were true, why are all of the calls from John Doe to him, instead of the other way around?"

"Uh oh. That doesn't look good." Eric's attention returned to the interrogation room. "The lawyer is _laughing._"

Calleigh entered a minute later. "Have you decided to cooperate yet, Mr. Petersen?"

The lawyer answered. "My client is invoking his Fifth Amendment right not to speak."

Calleigh raised an eyebrow. "You mean telling us who John Doe is would implicate you, personally, in a crime?"

"If that were true," Petersen said, "it would be _your _job to figure out what that crime was. I can't be legally compelled to tell you."

"If you cooperate, you could make a deal with the DA. Otherwise, we'll be charging you with obstruction, as well as whatever crime you're trying to hide from us."

"If you figure out what that is, give us a call. My client and I will be leaving now," the lawyer said.

* * *

Natalia watched the computer screen over Ryan's shoulder. He'd found an unopened sugar packet, just like he'd expected, with a couple of fingerprints that they were running through AFIS.

"Amazing. We got a hit."

Natalia read, "Matthew Pedro: robbery, assault, breaking and entering."

"It's nice to finally have a name to work with."

* * *

Ryan and two uniformed officers approached Pedro's apartment. Parked out front was a black car, dented and rusted in several places. It matched the description of the car that dropped off John Doe and Jane Doe at the beach house.

He knocked. A minute later, a man with a shaved head and thick black eyebrows opened the door. He looked at the cops. "What is it this time?"

"Matthew Pedro, I'm Ryan Wolfe, Miami-Dade crime lab. We have a warrant to search your apartment."

"What for?"

"We have evidence connecting you to a kidnapping and attempted murder."

"Attempted murder? Hell no. I didn't try to kill that chick."

That raised Ryan's eyebrows. "But you're not denying you kidnapped her?"

Pedro fearfully glanced back into his apartment. Ryan followed his gaze to a small blue purse on the table. He pushed by the suspect for a closer look.

"You don't have a woman over, do you?" he asked.

Pedro didn't say anything.

Ryan photographed the purse, then opened it and slipped out a wallet. "I found Jane Doe's driver's license. This purse belongs to a woman who's fighting for her life in the hospital. We have enough right here to arrest you for robbery, if nothing else."

"Then arrest me," the man challenged.

An officer pulled out handcuffs. "You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be held against you in a court of law..."

Ryan pulled out his cellphone. "Hey Natalia. I found an identity for our Jane Doe. Jozebeth De La Garza. She lives at 1104 Northwest Leon Street."

"I'll check it out."

* * *

Sara couldn't quite articulate, even in her own mind, why she wanted to go with Horatio to the most dangerous part of Miami.

_I have a problem with authority_. _I choose men who are emotionally unavailable. I'm self-destructive. All of the above._

She didn't smile at the memory.

Her eyes flashed toward Horatio. He wasn't the type she was usually attracted to, but she found herself drawn to him. Something about him made her feel safe. In fact, she felt safer when she was with him than she had in a very long time. At the same time, he seemed almost dangerous: mysterious, protective, aggressively competent. He kept his feelings to himself, stoic. He reminded her of Grissom. And yet he was very different. There was an easy warmth to Horatio, a wordless connection with others that Sara's old boss had lacked. And so did she, honestly.

Her thoughts turned to Vegas, to Grissom. She hadn't called him since before the hospital. For one thing, she wasn't sure she could lie to him if he asked what happened, and she didn't want him to worry. But also, she wanted to focus on the case. When she'd left Vegas, she was sick of her job, and certain that she would never want to be a CSI again. Yet here she was, in a city far away from her old life, pursuing the same work. And, truthfully, enjoying it.

That was why. It felt like a betrayal. Not a personal betrayal, a professional one. Grissom thought she'd left because she had to get away from the work. If he knew what she was doing then he would wonder if she left for some other reason. So she decided not to call him until this whole thing was over. She'd have more explaining to do, but that would give her more time to think of an explanation.

"This is it," Horatio announced as they parked in front of an unmarked building.

The streets, sidewalks, and buildings in this part of Miami were crumbling, and stained with dirt, rust, and less pleasant things. Garbage clung to the gutters, including used needles, broken bottles, cigarette butts. The banana-yellow morning light did little to brighten the scene. A siren could be heard in the distance.

Horatio and Sara exited the vehicle, both walking with a calm determination. He pushed open the grime-smeared door.

The man at the front desk looked up at them. He was small, pale, wiry, and wary. He didn't speak.

"Hello," Horatio said. "We're looking for Cinder."

The man scoffed.

"What's so funny?" Sara asked.

"Cinder's only here on the weekends, and then only in the p.m."

"Where can we find Cinder now?"

The small man sneered. "Who's asking?"

Horatio slid a 20 bill across the table. "We are."

He snatched the money, smiling scornfully. "You might want to check at Dragon Rojo, sometimes she's there. It's a bar about two miles down the street." He waved his hand vaguely in the direction of south.

"Thank you. We are _much _obliged," Horatio said. He and Sara retreated to the door.

As they walked out, Sara glanced at the upper story windows. "A photo album on the desk, drug paraphernalia in the trash cans, curtains on the windows."

"Yes. This is a brothel, isn't it."

"More like a hotel, except people come here for drugs or sex instead of sleep. Or to hide out from cops. We could come back with a warrant, but that would blow our cover pretty fast. I don't know about you, but I felt like that guy was actually considering just shooting us."

"And he might still be thinking about it. Let's take his suggestion and check at the Red Dragon."

* * *

Jozebeth's landlord unlocked her apartment. "I figured she was staying with a boyfriend or something," he explained. "That's kind of normal for my single tenants her age. Look around all you want."

"Thanks." Natalia pulled on gloves and looked around. The apartment was small: a table, a chair, and about a quarter of a kitchen taking up a corner of the living room. The bathroom was about twice the size of the average closet, with a shower, a sink, and a toilet so close they were nearly touching. The twin-size bed took up about half the bedroom. The other half was a chest of drawers with a small tv and a laptop computer on top.

In spite of the cramped and cluttered condition, the apartment was cheerful and colorful. There were photos on the table and the bookshelf (which was squeezed between the head of the bed and the wall), magazines on top of the microwave, and a vase of wilting flowers on the table.

There was a phone perched on the windowsill in the kitchen with a blinking number 5 on the message display. Natalia pressed the play button.

_"Message One: 'Jozy...it's ten o'clock. You're never late for work. Where are you?'" _This was a man's voice, gruff but friendly.

_"Message Two: 'Seriously, Jozy. Did you have a late night last night? Just call so I can stop worrying.'"_ It was the same voice.

_"Message Three: 'Jozebeth...Just calling to say hi. Your dad and I are going camping next weekend. Would you like to come? Call me back. Love you.'"_ A woman's voice. Natalia guessed it was her mother.

_"Message Four: 'Hi...um...this is Scott. Um...you might not remember me, but you gave me your number and I was wondering if you wanted to have dinner or lunch or something on Friday. My number's 555-0441, if you want to call me back. Um...bye.'"_ This voice sounded like a teenage boy.

_"Message Five: 'Jozy, this is Ted. This is the second day in a row you didn't come to work. If you don't come in tomorrow or don't call me, I'm going to have to fire you. I'm sorry.'" _The same voice from the first two messages.

Natalia looked around again and sighed. There was nothing here that explained why Jozebeth De La Garza was drugged and abducted, nothing to suggest why anyone would want her dead.

* * *

Eric interviewed Matthew Pedro while Ryan was still processing his apartment.

"My client," said Pedro's public defense attorney, "has agreed to cooperate fully in exchange for a plea bargain."

"Good. You can start by telling us why you kidnapped Jozebeth De La Garza."

"This guy paid me to grab her."

"Do you know the man's name?"

Pedro laughed. "We don't use names. He just gave me a wad of cash and a bottle of something and told me to put it in this girl's coffee. He told me to grab her and meet up with him. So I did, and he had me drop them off at an address by the beach. So I did. He gave me the rest of the money, and let me keep the girl's purse and everything in it. I didn't want to know what he planned on doing with her."

"And he told you to grab this girl _specifically_?" he asked.

"Yeah. He told me exactly what she looked like, and where and when to find her."

"Did he tell you why he wasn't grabbing her himself?"

"No. And why would I ask? His money was good. That's all I know. I swear."

"What did the man look like?"

"Uh, average. Thirties, early forties, maybe. Brown hair. Kind of chubby."

"Is this the man?" Eric showed him the sketch of John Doe.

"Yeah. That's him."

"What did you do with the money he gave you?"

"It's still in my apartment. I haven't even counted it yet."

* * *

Calleigh, sitting between two attentive prison guards, smiled at George Merlo. "I just wanted to ask you a few questions, Mr. Merlo."

"Ask all the questions you want. You're the best view I've had in a long time."

"Why thank you," she said. Merlo wasn't exactly what she'd been expecting. He less shabby and more articulate than the average street thug. "For starters, I'd like to know where you bought the gun you used in the robbery."

"I bought it on the black market. I don't remember the details. But I'd be happy to make some up, if it will keep you around here longer."

"Okay, let's do that. What did the person you bought the gun from look like?"

"He was Black, or maybe Cuban. It was a very dark alley."

"You know, I'm not sure you bought that gun at all. A funny thing about selling guns is that, usually, they all end up in different hands, but the gun you used was stolen along with four others, three of which were just recovered from a dead man's hotel room."

Merlo's expression became more guarded. "Really? Who was the dead man?"

"I'm sorry, but that's not something I can discuss. But, if it's not too much trouble, could you take a look at a sketch for me?" She pulled out the picture of John Doe.

Merlo flinched. His lips parted in a frown.

"You do recognize him."

"Will's dead?"

"I'm afraid so. Do you know what he might have been doing at Arsenio Petersen's house?"

He visibly startled. "Arsenio? No. That makes no sense."

"Or what he wanted with Jozebeth De La Garza?"

Merlo stared at her. "I'm not saying another syllable without a lawyer."

"That is your right. But, Mr. Merlo, you were in prison during the time of the crimes. That's about as good an alibi as you can get."

"Lawyer," he repeated.

* * *

The Dragon Rojo bar was in no way out of place in the neighborhood. The few lights that worked glowed fuzzily through a mist of tobacco smoke. There were people seated along the bar, and several more around pool tables. There was music playing. The song sounded Spanish, but it was hard to tell over the noise.

"And I thought Vegas was the Wild West," Sara remarked.

"This," Horatio said with his characteristic over-dramatic cadence, "is Miami."

They entered, instinctively staying close together, and worked their way to the bar.

The bartender was a large, muscular man. Every inch of visible skin displayed a tattoo, from his arms to his neck to most of his face. And he seemed to also have a black eye. His eyes flickered over their clothes, their faces, and their stances with burning hostility. "What do you want?" he demanded.

It occurred to Sara that Catherine could handle this situation easily by leaning forward, showing some cleavage, and dropping some stripper slang to convince the bartender she was a prostitute looking for a friend. Unfortunately, acting wasn't in Sara's skill set.

"We're looking for Cinder," she said, trying to make it sound like someone she knew.

"She's not here," the man informed them icily.

Horatio glanced down, then back up quickly, and spoke carefully. "Do you know where we can find her?"

"_Not_. _Here_. Now get out before something bad happens to you."

People were beginning to notice them. The conversation was sinking to frantic whispers.

"Sir," Horatio's voice had a threatening edge, "we're not here to make trouble. You really should cooperate with us."

Sara glanced at the onlookers. The whispers were making her nervous. Mixed in with the conversation was one word repeated over and over: _Caine._

The bartender put his hands on the table and leaned forward. "No one tells me what to do in my place. Now, tell me why you're really here, or..."

Horatio's hand moved inconspicuously slowly toward his gun. "Sara," he said in a low growl, "run!"

She turned toward the exit. She heard two shots and glass breaking. Simultaneously, the room was plunged into near darkness. Some people screamed. She pushed her way toward the exit with the crowd, and a minute later spilled out into the Miami sunlight. She started toward the hummer, but turned back. She couldn't bring herself to leave Horatio. Figuring there had to be a back exit, she turned down the alley beside the bar, which emptied into a vacant lot.

Suddenly, she heard a voice behind her. "Turn around."

She turned, and saw two young men, both holding guns in her face.

Guns look very different when seen from the wrong side. They have a way of focusing attention while the rest of the world shrinks away. She was frozen, paralyzed. Even her thoughts froze.

"Where is Horatio Caine?" the man asked.

She moved her lips, but didn't speak.

"I know you were with him. Where did he go?"

"I don't know," she managed to say.

"You're lying."

"Gentlemen, I'm right here. You can let her go." Horatio stepped out of the shadows of the alley.

Both men swung their guns toward him. "Caine!" one of them spat.

Without thinking, Sara drew her gun in a flash of movement and shoved it against the back of the closest assailant's neck. Horatio trained his weapon on the other.

"Gentlemen," he said in a voice that managed to be both soothing and threatening, "you should really consider the possibility that you have us mistaken for someone else."

"I know who you are," the man said.

Sara pressed her gun harder against his skin. "You won't know anything in a minute if you don't put down your gun."

He lowered it slowly. "Okay. Okay."

"You too, friend," Horatio said to the man his gun was pointed at. "Put it down and walk away." He circled around until he was behind him, next to Sara. "Walk away." He took a few steps back, and Sara followed his lead. "Now."

The two men broke into a run for the alley.

"There're more of them," Sara started to say.

"Yes. This way."

They retreated through the vacant lot to a tall wooden fence. Horatio holstered his weapon. "Ladies first," he said as he interlaced his fingers to boost Sara up.

She pulled herself up, then gave Horatio a hand before jumping down into the ground below. Horatio dropped down beside her. They were in a narrow opening where a gutter ran between two fences. It was concealed from the road by a curtain of kudzu growing up a telephone pole.

Sara sank to the ground and rested her head against the fence. Her heart was pounding.

Horatio stooped down next to her. "Are you alright, sweetheart?" he asked.

It was only then that she realized she'd been wincing and rubbing her arm. "I broke my arm last year. It still hurts sometimes. I just jolted it a little."

He felt up and down her forearm. "Okay. It doesn't feel broken. You're okay."

He kept rubbing her arm, which stopped hurting. Sara's heart kept pounding, but now it wasn't from fear. She recalled the day she'd cut her hand after an explosion in the lab, when Gil had cradled her hand in his and called her "Honey". The memory was pushed out by the more immediate reality of Horatio's presence. "Are you okay?" she asked, trying to break the tension.

"Yes I am." He slid his fingers from her arm to her hand and helped her up. "I suggest, we find some place to lay low for the time being."

* * *

Back at the lab, Natalia sat in front of a computer, running a search for Jozebeth De La Garza in police reports and court records. She wondered if John Doe had been an abusive ex-boyfriend, which would explain why he hired someone else, someone she wouldn't recognize, to grab her from the coffee shop.

But she was surprised when the name popped up as a witness in an open case.

She read through the file quickly.

"Oh my God."

* * *

Ryan entered the serial numbers of the cash recovered from Matthew Pedro's apartment, the money John Doe had paid for kidnapping Jozebeth.

His eyebrows crinkled. Three 100 bills were flagged as stolen.

He entered the case number, and began reading the file of an open robbery.

His eyes widened when they came across Jozebeth De La Garza's name.

"Oh my God."

* * *

Calleigh smiled across the table. "Hello again, Mr. Merlo. I hear you're ready to cooperate."

"Yes. I get full immunity if I tell you everything I know."

"That's sounds like a really good deal."

"You have no idea."

"Let's start with what you know about Will's murder."

"Well," he said slowly, "I don't know for sure, but I suspect Will Sommer was killed because he broke the rules..."


	10. Belladonna

Chapter 10: Belladonna

"This one's unlocked," Sara whispered. She cracked open the door and peeked into a dimly lit back room of some store. Shelves and stacks of boxes provided ample hiding places.

She and Horatio entered silently. Sara led the way through the cramped space. She saw a crack of bright light, and made her way toward it.

The wall between the storage room and the main part of the small grocery was made from slabs of metal nailed together. There was a space of almost an inch between the slabs and the wall. Through it, she could see a middle-aged woman sitting at the register near the front door. The woman was reading a magazine, looking bored.

Horatio slid into the narrow space between the wall and a shelf. He was so close Sara could feel the heat of his body. "This is a good place to hear the neighborhood gossip," she breathed in a barely audible whisper.

A few minutes later, the bells hanging from the front door tinkled to announce a customer. The woman looked up from her magazine. "Hello, Hannah."

A young woman walked up to her. "Good morning, Inmaculada. I need to buy a gun," she said.

"A gun?"

"Yeah. Haven't you heard? Horatio Caine shot up the Dragon Rojo just a few minutes ago."

"Who is Horatio Caine?" Inmaculada inquired.

"He's a cop...he's the reason my brother is in prison. I can't believe he has the guts to show his face around here. I heard he's looking for Cinder. Can you believe it?"

"Well, I suggest you best keep yourself out of sight and out of trouble, young lady. Besides, I don't have any guns in just now."

"Okay, but if you see a red-haired guy who looks like a cop, give the Dragon Rojo a call."

"Okay. Take care."

Another customer entered after Hannah left.

"Just a bottle of water today, Ken?" Inmaculada asked pleasantly.

"Yes. I have a package to deliver to Lu. It's a long ride."

"Have you heard about that Caine fellow being in the neighborhood?"

"No. Caine who?"

"Horatio Caine. I just heard about it."

"That science cop? What's he doing around here?"

"I heard he was looking for Cinder."

"Cinder? Why?"

"I didn't hear."

"What would a cop want with Cinder? She never breaks the law...except for her job, I guess. If he arrests her, his life expectancy is going to drop so fast he'll think he's skydiving. Antiopa doesn't like people messing with her girls. If this Horatio comes in and tries to talk to you, don't tell him anything, okay?"

"Of course not."

Ken walked out, and Inmaculada went back to her reading.

Horatio had moved closer to Sara to get a better view. He noticed her face now, ghostly in the thin light. She was concentrating thoughtfully, her lips set in a slight frown. He respected her courage in coming back for him, and her quick thinking during the gun stand-off. His admiration for her was magnified when he considered what she'd been through.

He pulled his eyes away from her face, and tried to ignore how close he was to her.

The bells on the doors jangled again. A young man walked in. He was thin, with an olive complexion and frosted black hair.

"Hello, Sal," Inmaculada greeted him.

"Hi." He grabbed a pack of cigarettes, then looked at the candy. "How are you today?"

"Did you hear about that big-shot cop who shot up the Dragon Rojo today?"

"Horatio Caine. I heard. He just shot out a couple of lights, no one was hurt."

"I heard he's looking for Cinder. You should warn her."

"You know, Horatio Caine's not like other cops; he would never put someone in jail just because he can, and he never arrests anyone if he knows they didn't do anything, no matter who they are: prostitute, druggie, or what. My friend Anthony was arrested for a robbery because the cops found him outside the pawn shop and he was stoned, but Caine figured out he didn't do it and they let him go. I'm sure he just wants to ask Cinder some questions. If he asks you, go ahead and tell him where to find her."

"Okay, I'll do that."

"See you later."

Sara turned and came up against Horatio. "Let's go," she mouthed.

They slipped out the back door and circled around to the street, where they saw Sal lighting a cigarette as he walked away.

Sara sprinted up to him. "Excuse me," she said.

He looked up at her, eyes raised. "Hi."

"Hi. I'm sorry to bother you, but maybe you can help us."

Horatio joined her. "My name is Horatio Caine. We're looking for someone who may have information in a murder case. Cinder; do you know where we can find her?"

Sal glanced around quickly. "We can't talk here. There's a church on the corner down the street. Meet me there in five minutes."

Sara nodded. Sal darted across the street and slipped out of sight.

The church looked empty when they entered. Sara paused at the door. "Have you ever worked a case in a church?" she asked.

"Too many."

She stepped inside and spotted Sal leaning against the wall near the back. They joined him.

"Let me start by saying that Cinder is a whore. If you're going to arrest her, I'm not going to tell you where she is," Sal stated.

"We're not going to arrest her. It's not like we've arrested you yet," Sara said.

He blinked in surprise. "How did you..."

"I'm from Vegas," she stated in explanation.

"Okay. I can't tell you exactly where Cinder is, because she could be a lot of places. If you want to talk to her, talk to her pimp, Antiopa. You can find her at her nightclub, the Nightshade, at 2150 Coquina Street. But if she doesn't like you, you might not make it out."

"Thank you."

"No problem. You helped out a friend of mine once. If there were more cops like you, the city would be a better place." Sal took a few steps toward the door before turning back and saying, "but, if you don't mind, don't tell anyone you heard this from me."

"We won't."

Sal nodded and disappeared out the door.

Minutes later, the hummer drove up to the club. "I started hearing about Antiopa a year ago, from drug dealers we brought in this neighborhood. The rumor is that anyone who crosses her or threatens her business interests meets an untimely end, but we've never directly linked to her to a single body. She calls her club 'nightshade'. This is a woman who's trying to cultivate a certain image."

"And she named herself 'Antiopa'; that's the species name of the mourning cloak butterfly," Sara added. When Horatio glanced at her curiously, she said, "My...old boss is an entomologist. I...Anyway, I think she's trying too hard to sound dangerous. I'm not worried."

"Then let's go."

The club was nearly empty this early. A few patrons sat at tables or along the bar, but they were outnumbered by bartenders, waitresses, and a janitor. They looked up at the two newcomers with varying degrees of curiosity.

A large man, either a bouncer or a mugger, walked up to them.

"Sir, we're looking for Antiopa."

"Horatio Caine?" he asked.

"Yes I am," he confirmed.

He looked at Sara. "And you are?"

"She's with me."

The man accepted that with a nod. "Antiopa's expecting you."

He ushered them to a back room. As soon as they walked through the door, two men darted out, pinned Horatio and Sara to a wall, and frisked them, taking away their guns before letting them go.

The room was bare of furnishings except for a single chair and a small table, where a woman sat primly. Her hair, tightly contained in a French braid, at first looked blond in the poor light, but on closer inspection was grey. She had high cheekbones, a long, straight nose, and thick lips. Her face was intimidating and sultry, like she'd just been woken up too early, and was more than willing to kill someone. Her eyes, which had been downcast, snapped up at them.

"You're very stupid."

Horatio smiled at the floor. "Ma'am, we're not here to make any trouble for you; we just need to question one of your employees in connection with a murder case, and then we'll be on our way."

"Mr. Caine, you make trouble for everyone. It's your job. All I have to do is kill you and automatically half the people I know will owe me a favor. Give me one compelling reason why I shouldn't."

"I can give you two," he said.

"I'm waiting."

"First, if you do that, my people will find out what happened and you will get the death penalty. I don't believe that's the way you'd like to go out. Second, if you help me with my investigation, _I _will owe you a favor, and _that_ is no small thing for someone in your business."

She contemplated him for a few seconds. "You can speak with Cinder for five minutes, then my men will escort you to the door and return your weapons, at which point you will leave and not come back. And, Mr. Caine, in future dealings you might want to keep in mind that I don't respond well to threats."

The two men who had taken their guns led Horatio and Sara upstairs to a small room with a cot, a couch, and a television. A young woman was sitting on the back of the couch, looking out the window. Thick, hematite-black hair draped over her shoulders. When they walked in, she turned around. "Is this him?" she asked nervously in an Australian accent.

"Horatio Caine," one of the muscular bouncers said. They waited at the open door.

Sara walked in and sat next to the young woman. "Hi. My name's Sara."

"I'm Cinder." She flashed a nervous, gap-toothed smile. Her large, dark eyes darted back and forth between the window and Sara's face.

"You have no idea why we're here, do you?"

"Honestly, no. I heard you were looking for me, but I don't remember doing anything wrong."

"You didn't," Sara assured her comfortingly. "But someone you met with might have."

Horatio sat down next to Sara. He leaned forward and gave Cinder the friendly, calming smile he used for children and frightened witnesses. "Cinder, someone had an appointment with you at 6 p.m. last Sunday. Do you remember who it was?"

"Sunday?" She took a deep breath. "I...met with a few people on Sunday. I didn't look at the clock, I don't remember who I...met with at six."

"That's alright," Sara said. "We know what you do for a living, and we're not here about that. Do you remember what the men looked like, or their names?"

"Not their names. One of them told me to call him David, but that's all. He was white, middle aged, kind of...he was fat, and had grey hair. The other man was younger, dark brown hair, maybe eighteen or twenty. He only spoke Spanish. There was a woman, white, maybe forty. She had blond hair, and she was wearing a wedding ring. That was all of my customers."

"Okay, did you see anyone else that day?"

"Just...the guy who runs the hotel, a delivery man who brought me a gift from my boyfriend, and the pizza boy."

"Cinder, I'm going to show you some pictures. Tell me if you recognize anyone, okay?"

"Okay."

Horatio showed her a picture of John Doe and Arsenio Petersen. She examined each, then shook her head. "I don't recognize them."

"Your time is up," one of the men said from the door.

As they exited the club into the muggy heat of early afternoon, Sara shook her head. "All that for a dead end."

"Miss Sidle, I don't believe in dead ends."

"None of her johns match the description of anyone in our case."

"Of anyone in our case _yet_," Horatio corrected her.


	11. Comparing Notes

Chapter 11: Comparing Notes

It was late in the afternoon when Horatio and Sara returned to the CSI lab.

The receptionist stood to greet them. "Sir, Ms. Duquesne is in Conference Room Two. She told me to tell you to meet her there as soon as you came in."

"Thank you, Felix." They went to the elevator. "I wonder what this is about."

"Maybe she had more luck than we did," Sara speculated.

They found Calleigh, Ryan, Eric, and Natalia sitting at the table in the conference room.

"He must have been planning another heist," Ryan said. "That's the only reason to act now."

"Progress on the case?"

"H, Sara, welcome back. I was getting worried," Eric said.

Horatio took a seat. "What do we know?" he asked.

"John Doe has been identified as William Sommer," Calleigh began.

"And Jane Doe is twenty-year-old Jozebeth De La Garza," Natalia added.

"Jozebeth De La Garza...why does that name seem familiar?"

"Because," Ryan answered, "seven years ago, there was a robbery at Miami Trust Bank, on a day when Jozebeth was there with her father."

"Four men wearing ski masks and gloves carrying guns..." said Natalia.

"The three guns found in William Sommer's motel room match the description guns the robbers had," said Calleigh. "Unfortunately, they never fired their weapons, so there were no bullets to compare."

Eric jumped in. "After collecting almost two million from the bank, the robbers grabbed Jozebeth and used her as a human shield when they ran to their getaway car. She was found outside a hospital eight hours later, bound at her wrists, ankles, and mouth with duct tape, and blindfolded."

"I remember. Speedle worked that case," Horatio said. "Her parents made sure her name and picture were kept out of the news once she was safely found."

"Which is why no one recognized her," Eric commented.

"Even though she gave a description of three of them, the bank robbers were never identified. Do we think one of them is our killer?"

Calleigh answered. "We know their identities now, thanks to George Merlo, who was one of them. They were friends from college, none of them had criminal records, and all of them were having financial trouble, so they decided to rob a bank, split the cash equally, and go their separate ways so that if one of them was caught, he wouldn't be able to lead the police to the others. William Sommer was one of the robbers. The other two were Kenneth Frizzell and Phillip Pavia. Arsenio Petersen drove the getaway car. The plan was that they would never contact each other again, and never do anything to attract police attention. Merlo ruined that part by getting arrested, but since nothing tied him to the bank robbery, he kept his mouth shut until he was offered immunity. He thinks that Sommer contacted the others, wanting to pull off another bank job. He would have wanted to eliminate the only person who saw their faces."

"Jozebeth De La Garza. But in that case, how did _he_ end up dead?"

"One of the other robbers might have been worried about Will getting caught and giving them up," Ryan speculated.

"Probably Kenneth Frizzell. It looks like Petersen was cooperating, and Phillip Pavia emigrated to Costa Rica shortly after the bank heist and hasn't been heard from since," said Calleigh.

"Yet the death threat found in Sommer's motel room indicate he was killed for harming a woman, presumably Jozebeth," Horatio mused. "Someone who knew what he was planning, and followed him. Could someone she knew have had knowledge about the robbers' identities?"

"I don't see how. She's never been in trouble with the law; she runs in different circles than the five robbers. I can't think of anyone who knew her enough to protect her, and be in on Sommer's plan."

"The other robbers," Sara stated. "If Sommer knew where to find the girl, the others probably did, too. They let her live even though she saw their faces. It could be a case of Lima Syndrome, a captor becoming emotionally attached to a hostage."

"The reverse of Stockholm Syndrome." Eric nodded. "That makes sense. Jozebeth reported that her captors argued about whether to kill her, with one eventually convincing the others that the cops would work harder to find them if they murdered a photogenic thirteen-year-old girl."

"Has anyone picked up Kenneth Frizzell?" Horatio inquired.

Calleigh shook her head. "His last known address is from four years ago. Merlo doesn't know where to find him, and Petersen's still denying any involvement. We're working on tracking him down."

"Okay. Do we have anything else?"

The team glanced at each other before Eric answered for them. "Not yet."

When the meeting was over, Sara and Horatio were the last to leave the room.

"You have a good team," Sara commented.

"Yes I do." He paused and looked at her. She had her eyes on the floor. "And you've been instrumental in this case. Is there something on your mind?"

"It's highly unlikely...but one of the customers in the grocery store...the one who bought a bottle of water...could be the messenger who met with Cinder on Sunday. He had a notepad with him that looked like the same kind of paper the threat was written on." She glanced up. The look Horatio was giving her was one of intent admiration.

"I remember. 'Ken,' Kenneth Frizzell. He may be hard to track down, but I will definitely look into that."

"Do you want me to help you?"

"Right now, I want you to go to your hotel and get some rest. You've had a long day."

"So have you," Sara pointed out.

"True."

One side of Sara's lips curved into a smile. It was joined by the other side a second later. "See you tomorrow, H."

He looked up at her, surprised and pleased that she used his nickname. He smiled back. "Goodnight, Sara."

As she waited for the elevator door to open, Calleigh joined her. She'd overheard their interaction, and seen the way Horatio focused on her, the way he only did with women he was interested in. She hadn't seen him smile like that since Marisol died. "Did you have an exciting time in the Golden Triangle today?" she asked for want of a better opening.

"We didn't learn much."

The elevator door opened, and both women stepped in.

"You seem to be getting along well with Horatio."

Sara looked at her suspiciously; the question sounded innocent enough, but she wondered if there was some underlying motivation behind it. Jealousy, perhaps? But the blond woman's friendly smile convinced her she was just curious.

"Yeah. He's..." she wasn't sure how to describe him. "He's good."

"Horatio's amazing," Calleigh said. "He's one of the best investigators I've ever met."

"He's really dedicated to his work, and he always seems to know exactly what to say."

"It's true; he's rarely at a loss for words."

"What's it like to work for him?"

"You couldn't ask for a better boss. He trusts and respects his employees, he's loyal, he's caring..."

"I noticed that. He definitely has a way with people."

"He takes care of people, protects them. And when Horatio gets attached to someone, when he makes a connection with them, he never gives up on them, no matter what." The elevator door opened at Calleigh's floor, and she flashed one last smile behind her as she stepped through. "And now you're one of them, sweet pea."

* * *

Instead of going straight to her hotel, Sara went to the hospital. She entered Jozebeth's room to find a woman leaning over the bed, holding the unconscious girl's hand and talking to her. 

"Are you her mother?" Sara asked quietly.

The woman smiled. "No, Dr. Alexx Woods. I'm a medical examiner. I just wanted to stop by and check on her. And you are?"

"Sara Sidle."

"Ah, the new CSI. I wondered when I'd get to meet you."

"I'm not really new, I'm just consulting on this case..."

"Some case," Alexx said. "Why did he have to beat up this poor girl so badly? She was already unconscious."

"My guess...is he wanted to beat her to death, make it look personal, like a boyfriend did it."

"So people wouldn't connect it to the bank robbery, you mean. I heard what happened." Alexx ran her hand over Jozebeth's hair. "This poor girl was only thirteen when those creeps took her hostage. She had to listen to them argue about whether to kill her. I can't imagine how terrifying that must have been for someone that age."

"It would be an ordeal for someone of any age," Sara said.

"Got that right. The fear isn't even the worst part. It's the helplessness, the feeling of complete helplessness."

Sara glanced up at the other woman curiously. "You sound like you know."

"A few years ago, a serial killer who escaped from prison took me...he was hurt and wanted me to fix him. I kept thinking I would never see my kids again. He said he'd kill them if I didn't cooperate."

She blinked rapidly and looked away. She hadn't thought about it since, but when Natalie Davis had her, she'd been afraid that once she died the serial killer's next target would be Grissom. "How long did it take to get over it?"

"Honey, sometimes I still wake up in the middle of the night thinking he's right there, even though I know he's dead. But most of the time now I don't even think about it."

"So it comes and goes?"

"Yes. But it's also always with me. This girl, she lived with that all these years, just to have one of them come back for her."

"The past can never be dead enough."

"You sound like you know a thing or two about this, too," Alexx said.

"Last year...I was targeted by a serial killer in Vegas. I almost died."

Alexx looked back at Jozebeth. "Three peas in a pod, aren't we, honey? But we got through it. And so will you, baby girl."

"You've got quite a bed-side manner," Sara said.

"Thank you."

"If you don't mind my asking, why do you do what you do? Operate on people when they're already dead? Doesn't it ever feel just...futile?"

"Someone has to," the woman said. "And it should be someone who cares about them, who cares about their lives, their families, their dignity. And I'm good at it. I admit," she added, "it's not always easy."

They heard voices from the hallway.

"Will she wake up?" a man with a heavy Cuban accent asked.

"Only time will tell," someone replied. "But I have to be honest with you, the longer it takes..." Dr. Whitley walked in, followed by a tall, middle-aged man and a short African American woman with tightly braided hair and large gold cross earrings. They were clearly Jozebeth's parents.

The doctor looked surprised at the two women in the room. "Dr. Woods, Ms. Sidle. These are Jose and Elizabeth De La Garza. Mr. and Mrs. De La Garza, these are two of the people working on Jozebeth's case."

Elizabeth went to her daughter's bedside. Alexx stepped back to give her room. "Oh, my dear Jo," she whispered. "Why did this happen to you?"

"You know, she's been so brave, since the bank robbery," Jose said, speaking to Sara. "She never let it...control her. She refused to let fear rule her life. And now this..."

"Mr. De La Garza, we're doing everything we can to find out who did this to your daughter, and why."

"Thank you," he said.

Sara walked out quickly. As soon as she left the room, the tears began spilling down her cheeks. They were tears for Jozebeth, who'd suffered a horrible attack she didn't deserve; for her parents, who didn't know if their daughter would ever wake up...

And for herself, for not having parents to rush to her bedside, for leaving the only people who cared about her, for not being strong enough to let go of her past.


	12. The Kiss

Spoiler Alert: _CSI_ episode "Nesting Dolls" and _CSI: Miami _episode "Collision."

Chapter 12: The Kiss

The full moon was just climbing over the rooftops, and the sky was still light enough to provide ample light. Sara sat on a bench in the the Suma Hotel's garden. She had an open book in her hands, but wasn't really reading it.

She missed Gil, and Vegas, but she didn't miss them as excruciatingly as she had before she got involved in this case. For the first time since she left Las Vegas, she could actually think about her life.

She almost felt like she could get used to this again. Miami was a beautiful city. Las Vegas, San Francisco, and every place she'd been in between, she'd had a feeling of dissatisfaction, and she hadn't been able to stay in any one place for longer than a week. But here was different. She didn't want to leave. At least not now.

Some people went backpacking across Europe to find themselves. She'd never had that opportunity. Perhaps she had always been lost. The only times when she felt like she really belonged had been in Gil's arms, but in the end even that hadn't been enough.

She let her head fall back and sighed deeply. She tried to let her mind go blank, and simply listened to the sounds of a city at twilight, the warm ocean wind in the branches of the trees, the traffic on the streets, the distant voices of people laughing and talking in Spanish. She inhaled the fragrances of the ocean, the humidity, the vegetation, the jasmine blossoms growing nearby.

In the fonds of the palm tree overhead, a large and rather beautiful golden orb weaver spider was spinning its web. It brought a brief smile to her face; Gil would be proud that she could identify it.

Then she frowned. For several minutes today, when she was with Horatio, she hadn't even thought of Gil. She'd promised to miss him with every breath, and she hadn't.

She still had no idea if she could ever go back, or if she would ever see Gil again. She hadn't given him any reason to believe she would. And she had no reason to believe he'd wait for her. She almost hoped he wouldn't: he deserved to be happy, even if it was with someone else. She had, however, been quite sure she would never be happy with anyone else. But for the first time, she was starting to wonder about that.

Her eyes returned to her book, and in an effort to concentrate, she read a poem out loud. "'Lonely the voice of the crane among the clouds. Gone the comrade that once flew at its side.' Murasaki Shikibu."

"Didn't your parents ever tell you not to read in the dark?"

She was startled by the voice so near. "That's just a myth. Besides, the moon is bright enough."

"Ah, yes. The moon over Miami."

She closed her book and looked up at him. "What are you doing here, Horatio?"

He sat beside her on the bench. "I wanted to check on you. Alexx told me you stopped by the hospital to see the victim."

"Yeah. I..." She brushed a strand of hair out of her eyes. "I just wanted to check on her. Just in case she woke up."

"I understand. How are you doing?"

"What do you mean?" she asked uncertainly.

He looked down at his hands. "Miss Sidle..."

"Call me Sara."

"Sara," he began, "I know why you're becoming so involved in this case."

She instantly became guarded. "Really? Why?"

He looked back at her. Her fair face seemed to glow in the moonlight. She was bright, mysterious, fascinating, beautiful, resilient, complex. He had to be careful, not just that he didn't say the wrong thing, but that he didn't let himself become too emotionally involved. "The Miniature Killer," he said.

"I should have known that would follow me here."

"You seem to be making this case personal." He was observing, not criticizing.

"Every case is personal to me. That's why I burned out." _Just like Grissom worried I would, _she recalled.

"Would you like to talk about it?"

"What's to talk about?"

"What brought you to Miami?"

"I came for the sunshine," she answered flippantly.

"Did you? Do you want to know what I think, Miss Sidle? You came to Miami for the sunshine, but you bring a book about death to the beach; you keep your gun with you; at the first sign of trouble, you run toward it; you risk your life to save a stranger. I saw you with the victim. I saw your passion when you tracked down her identity. To me, that doesn't look like burn-out. So let's start again: Why did you leave Las Vegas?"

She shifted toward him, but kept her eyes down. "Why do I want so much to trust you?"

"Because you need to trust someone. And I care about you."

She laughed incredulously. "And you admit it. That's weird." She sighed and looked up at the moon. "I was so sick of it. Sick of death, sick of blood, sick of seeing every day the worst that people are capable of, sick of it never ending. I had to leave. I just couldn't take it anymore. It stayed with me all the time. I'm not sure how much sense that makes."

"I understand completely. So, Sara, why did you end up in Miami?"

"I wanted to escape myself. To...party, drink, get a tan on the beach. Maybe go for a cruise. Anything to stop thinking about it. I guess I hoped the sunshine would somehow burn the sickness out of me."

"You could have done that in any city in the Sunbelt. I'm wondering if it was a coincidence that you came to Miami, where a few years ago some of your colleagues worked a case with our lab."

It look her a long moment to reply. "You think...I subconsciously came here looking for you?"

"I'm wondering what it is you're really searching for."

"I don't know," she said quietly. "I don't even know what I want anymore." They sat in thoughtful silence for over a minute, then she asked "Do you ever think about quitting? About just walking away?"

"Of course I do. Every criminalist does. I knew a woman a few years ago, a great CSI named Megan. She left the work because it reminded her too much of her late husband, an officer killed in the line of duty. The city lost a valuable asset when she walked away, but it was her choice to make, and I learned to accept that. There comes a point when a CSI simply can't, or shouldn't, keep working."

"Do you think," Sara said hesitantly, "it's possible for someone who's walked away from being a CSI to ever go back?"

"Perhaps, for some of them, all they really need is a vacation."

"I remember a time when I loved my job, but I don't remember why."

"You know, in my experience, people become CSIs for one of two reasons. For some, it's the thrill of finding clues, of solving the puzzle. Others have something in them, something in their past, that compels them to seek justice, to protect the innocent, and to punish the guilty. I think, Miss Sidle, I think that you're like me."

"Who was it for you?" she whispered.

"My mother."

"Did they ever find her killer?"

"Yes." He added after a long hesitation, "She was murdered by my father."

Her head turned toward him. Their eyes met. Hers were filled with surprise, and a kind of faint desperation. "My father," she stated. "My mother."

He could only look at her silently. Here was someone who understood him completely, finally, and he didn't know what to say. All he knew was that he suddenly felt less alone than he had in a long time.

"In college," Sara said, suddenly severing the silence, "I was trying to decide what career path to take. I told myself it would be a bad idea to go into law enforcement. I needed to distance myself from my past, to find something that would help me move on. But I couldn't. Justice was my calling, and science was my passion."

"And now?" he asked.

She shook her head slightly. "I honestly don't know. That's all I know how to be: Sara Sidle, CSI. I don't know who I am outside of that."

"Really? It seems to me...that if that's who you are, it's something worth fighting for. But if Sara Sidle is who you are, and CSI is just what you do, then you need to find something else, something you can devote your passion to."

"I guess I just haven't found what that is yet. If it exists. Is it like that for you?"

"Yes it is. My work is my life."

"That can get pretty lonely."

"It can also be very rewarding."

"Doesn't leave much time for dating." Sara joked with a tight smile on her lips and a flicker of pain in her eyes.

Horatio smiled back. "That is true."

"And it's hard to get close to someone knowing how easy it is to lose them."

He looked away.

She noticed. "You ever felt like that?"

"I was married...very briefly."

"What happened?"

"She was murdered by a drug lord, to get to me."

"I'm so sorry." There was a long pause. "I never would have guessed you had that kind of loss in your past. You seem so...composed."

"So do you," he pointed out. "We learn...to keep going."

She blinked rapidly to keep the tears she felt prickling in her eyes from forming. "We try." She smiled and looked back at him.

The breeze picked up, rustling in the leaves of the palm tree.

Horatio didn't know why he did what he did then. He'd come to the garden with no intention but to talk to her. But her softly glowing beauty in the moonlight and the intimacy of their camaraderie drew him to her.

Sara didn't know why she tilted her head up to meet Horatio's lips as he leaned toward her. She told herself, even as their lips touched, that she shouldn't be doing this. She'd promised Grissom in her letter that he was her one and only. She'd stated that.

But then, she'd been wrong before.

Horatio was different. He was suave, warm, and exciting. It had taken Grissom years to give her a chance, and here was this man who'd known her for less than a week, and had already made a connection with her.

She had more in common with him than anyone she'd ever met.

He rested his lips on hers, and they didn't move. Then she lifted her hand to his cheek. He deepened the kiss. Sara forgot about her compunctions and wrapped her arms around his back. Her lips parted, and molded to fit his.

Horatio broke the kiss and slowly drew back, gazing at her.

As she realized what she had just done, she couldn't believe it. She got up and turned away.

He frowned and stood to join her, but he didn't touch her. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing. I'm sorry. It's not you. It's just...not...you," she finished quietly.

He saw her guilt and confusion, and the sudden weariness of her face as she fought against tears. He nodded with understanding. "He's a very lucky man," he said softly.

"I think he would disagree. His fiancée left him, and didn't even have the guts to say goodbye in person."

"I'm sure he understands."

"Would you? I loved him more than anything else in the world, and I couldn't even stay in Vegas for him."

"Because it wasn't about him." Horatio moved next to her so he could see her face. She didn't meet his eyes. "It's about you. You have to know who you are before you can share your life with someone else."

Sara looked at him. In his eyes, instead of the anger and disappointment she'd been expecting, was sympathy. He kept her gaze for a long moment, then smiled gently.

"I'll see you tomorrow at the lab," he said, and began to walk away. "Goodnight, Sara."

She watched him walk away. She almost told him to wait. She wanted him to stay, wanted it with half her heart.


	13. Choices

Chapter 13: Choices

Sara let her eyes open. The numbers of the clock glowed 2:32 a.m. She was tired, but hadn't been able to fall asleep. She couldn't stop thinking about Horatio, the kiss, the case, everything.

Horatio was so perfect. It was true that she didn't know him well yet, but she wanted to get to know him better. Much better. And what did she expect to find when she left Las Vegas? She felt like her life had begun again. New place, new people. She could stay here, see if anything developed between her and Horatio, maybe even get a job at the lab.

But that would mean never going back to Vegas, back to Grissom, to her friends and coworkers.

It wouldn't be the first time. She'd left her lab and her coworkers in San Francisco to go to work for Grissom. She did it to be close to him, and he'd rejected her and ignored her for years. She was getting along better with the Miami CSIs than she had with her Vegas coworkers at first.

A hint of a smile quivered on her lips as she recalled the first time she met Catherine. _"I know who I am. I think you're a little confused."_ She'd been brought in to investigate Warrick, so they didn't exactly start out on the right foot. She and Nick typically got along, but there was that bitterness when they were competing for a promotion. She'd been the outsider in Vegas, never really fitting in with the team.

No. That wasn't entirely true. She'd been an outsider at first, but she'd grown close to them over the years. Even though her coworkers in San Francisco had accepted and respected her, they never felt like family. Vegas had.

But Miami could, too.

Or she could keep going. She could go anywhere in the world she wanted. Maybe apply for a job at Quantico, or New York. She could be a CSI again. Or she could move back to Vegas, and do something else.

It also wasn't entirely true that she didn't know what she wanted. She wanted a lot of things, they were just mutually exclusive.

She wanted to go back. She wanted to stay. She wanted to move on. She wanted to be wrapped in Gil's arms again. She wanted to kiss Horatio again. She wanted to work, to do what she was good at, and feel useful. To heal.

There was no way she could ever be completely happy. If she didn't stay in Miami, she would always wonder what might have been. If she did stay, she would never stop missing her Vegas colleagues, each one with unique talents and quirks. Especially Grissom.

But then, things change. People come and go; and she was gone. How could she go back?

Happy memories of her time at the Vegas crime lab played through her head. She imagined herself relating them to Horatio, explaining why she wanted to go back.

Exhaustion finally overtook her racing mind, and she slept.

* * *

She walked into the crime lab the next morning and paused to admire the architecture. The high windows let in the morning sunlight, which, combined with the clean, modern lines of the hallway to make it look like any professional workplace, not a building devoted to unraveling the mysteries of death. She could easily imagine herself working here.

"Hey Sara." Ryan came up behind her. "Alexx told me to tell you that Jozebeth is awake. She thought you might want to interview her."

She smiled as she turned toward him. "She's right; I do. Is H around, do you know?"

As soon as she asked it, she wondered if Ryan would mind her using his nickname for his boss. But he smiled in amusement. "No. He tracked down Kenneth Frizzell's ex-girlfriend; he went to question her."

"Okay. If he asks, tell him I'm at the hospital."

"Sara, wait." His voice dropped in volume. "There's...something else I wanted to talk to you about."

"What?"

"Horatio told me that you had some problems in the Las Vegas lab, and you're thinking about a career change."

"He told you that?" she inquired, guarded.

"That's all he told me. He didn't say what the problems were, and it's none of my business. He told me because I went through something similar. I lost my job here, for some good reasons, and I ended up working as a crime correspondent on the local news. After a while, it started eating away at me, because I'm a CSI, and when I stopped doing that, I couldn't stand it. I don't know if you'll get to that point, but my advice is don't burn any bridges."

She nodded, accepting the advice to mull over later. "Thanks."

"I'll see you later."

* * *

Sara paused outside Jozebeth's room.

She entered hesitantly. Elizabeth was sitting by her daughter's bed reading a book. The girl was watching TV. "Hi. Is this a bad time?"

Elizabeth closed her book and stood up. "Not at all. Miss...Sidle, right?"

"Yeah. Sara."

"Jo, Miss Sidle is a CSI on your case."

Jozebeth sat up and smiled. "Hi."

"Hello Jozebeth. Mind if I ask you some questions?"

"Go ahead. It's a rerun anyway." She turned off the TV. "The doctor told me I was drugged. There was this guy at the coffee shop. He was bald with really, really bushy black eyebrows. He ordered the same coffee as me, and I think he switched our cups. I can describe him to a sketch artist."

Sara couldn't help but smile at her almost cheerful eagerness. "Do you often answer questions before they're asked?"

"Well, I have been here before," the girl pointed out.

"I see. The man who drugged you at the coffee shop is already in custody. He was hired by one of the bank robbers who kidnapped you seven years ago. We think he was trying to kill you because he was planning another crime and didn't want anyone to be able to identify him."

"Well that's good."

Sara blinked in confusion. "Why is that good?"

"I was targeted because of the last time I was kidnapped. If it was someone completely new out to get me, I'd start to feel paranoid." Her lip started bleeding from the force of her smile straining against her stitches, so she set her lips into a straight line, but there was still a gleam of amusement in her large brown eyes. Sara could see why so many people, possibly including one of her kidnappers, were so fond of Jozebeth.

"That's a good way to look at it. So, have you noticed anyone following you, or watching you lately?"

"Believe me, if I had I would have called the police. No."

"Has anyone tried to contact you, like along the lines of a secret admirer?"

"Not that I can think of."

"I'm sorry to ask you this, Jozebeth, but do you remember the attack at all?"

"No, thank god. The last thing I remember is walking out of the coffee shop, and then I woke up here. Anything else I can do to help?"

"Not right now. Thank you."

"No problem. If you need anything else, I'll be here."

The girl's smile was infectious, and Sara grinned back. "It's unusual for someone I interview to act so cheerful, especially in a hospital," she said.

"I can imagine. I kind of like hospitals," Jozebeth explained. "There's nothing to do but watch tv or read or talk to people, no pressure to work or accomplish something. It's relaxing. And I feel safe. Maybe because the hospital was the first place I went after my kidnapping, so I associate it with safety. And anyway, I'm sure the doctors and nurses don't need yet another grumpy patient."

Sara glanced up at Elizabeth, who shrugged. "Don't look at me. She was born that way. Smiling." Her own smile saddened. "I never could understand why anyone would want to hurt my Jozebeth."

"She's lucky to have family and friends to take care of her."

"We're the lucky ones."

Sara didn't say aloud her next thought: Jozebeth's winning smile might have been exactly what kept her alive.

* * *

Back at the crime lab, Sara wrote her report of the interview with the victim. She was heading toward Horatio's office when she spotted him in the hall. "Hey, H."

"Sara. I hear you spoke with Jozebeth."

"Yes. Didn't learn anything new. I have the interview notes; I was just on my way to give them to you." She handed him the folder.

"That's some fast work."

"Like I said, there wasn't much to go on. Did you have any luck tracking down Kenneth Frizzell?"

"Not yet," he replied.

"I...have an idea. It probably won't work, but it's worth a shot."

He looked up at her curiously.

"Remember Catherine Willows?"

"She is hard to forget," he said with a half smile.

Sara raised her eyebrow at that, but continued. "The first case I worked with her, we found the suspect's pager at a crime scene. He paged it, so Cath called his number back, and managed to talk him into a meeting. We got him."

"Clever move. How does it relate to our case?"

"Well, we have an unknown number from William Sommer's cellphone, don't we?"

Horatio smiled slowly. "Yes we do."

"If that's Kenneth Frizzell's number..."

"We might not be able to trace it, but we can still use it to get him."

* * *

Sara dialed the number from a payphone outside the crime lab. They'd decided she should do it, since their target might recognize Horatio's voice from his news appearances.

A mechanized voice asked her to leave a message at the tone.

"Hi," she said uncertainly. "A mutual friend gave me this number. I have a package I need delivered discretely, and I heard your the man to call. Meet me at 1754 North Jackson Road at five p.m. today." She hung up.

"Now we wait," Horatio said.

* * *

Sara stood outside the abandoned building at the address she'd given the mystery number. She pulled her hood tighter against the heavy rain, and checked her watch. It was nearly 5:20. There was no guarantee he was going to show, and she didn't know how long Horatio wanted her to wait.

A hooded figure approached her. He leaned up against the building next to her. "Got a light?" he asked.

"No."

Ken recognized the voice from the phone message. "So what's this delivery you wanted to make, and how much are you willing to pay for it?"

Sara glanced around. "Let's go somewhere we can talk."

"We can talk here."

"You really want to risk someone seeing you stuffing a wad of cash in your pocket?" she asked.

He glanced around. "Okay. Where do you have in mind?"

She opened the door behind her and entered a seemingly empty room. As she walked in, she pushed back her hood. "In here," she said.

Ken followed her. As soon as he was clear of the door, it slammed shut and Horatio stepped out from behind it, gun aimed at his head. "Kenneth Frizzell?" he said.

Two uniformed officers entered from another room. One of them had a gun trained on the suspect, the other was carrying handcuffs.

The man turned as the officers restrained him. "You set me up!" he shouted at Sara.

"Yes she did, and you killed William Sommer," Horatio stated.

* * *

Ken Frizzell sat stiffly in the interrogation room. He had declined a lawyer. Horatio and Sara sat across the table from him.

"Mr. Frizzell," Horatio began, "We found a gun in your backpack that, as we speak, is being compared to the bullet that killed William Sommer. We found a notepad with the same kind of paper that the death threat was written on. One of your partners has implicated you in a bank robbery and kidnapping. I strongly suggest that you get a lawyer."

He laughed humorlessly. "Mr. Caine, I don't think you understand how little I have to lose."

"Prison is not a nice place, Mr. Frizzell."

"I understand that." Ken looked at the reflections on the table top. "The gun will be a match. My prints will be on it. I don't think there's a lawyer in Miami who can keep me out of prison."

"But there may be mitigating circumstances that will factor in your sentence."

With that Ken looked up. "Horatio Caine...you're like the bogyman to the people I've been dealing with the past few years. There are mothers in Miami who tell their disobedient children scary stories about _you_. You'll catch them and put them in jail. You always know. I'm sorry if I sound a little self-centered, but I'd like to know exactly how much you know about me already."

"I know, Mr. Frizzell, that you had a bright future ahead of you once. I suspect that started slipping away the day you agreed to rob a bank. Your former girlfriend told me she met you in Atlanta, where you were living the playboy lifestyle. She moved to Miami with you,and you got an apartment together. She said suddenly it seemed like you had no money. She paid the rent, while you got a job riding a bike for a messenger service. She kicked you out of the apartment after she left you for a richer man. It sounds to me like your money ran out faster than you expected it to."

He nodded with a half smile. "They say crime doesn't pay. But the day I saw the money we got from the bank job, I thought they were lying. I convinced the others to let the girl go. I thought we were Robbin Hood, noble thieves who would never get caught, because we were better than the others. I had all of these ideas for what I would do with my cut of the money. We all did."

"But it wasn't that easy, was it."

"I couldn't put the money in a bank. That much would have raised some eyebrows. I thought about it for a while, put most of the money in a box and buried it in my grandfather's backyard. The rest I took to Atlanta, bought myself some great clothes, a suite at a hotel, nightclubs, parties. I ran out before I knew it. Then I came back to Miami with my girlfriend. But when I went to where my grandfather's house used to be, I found out he'd moved to a retirement community in Tampa, his old house had been torn town and replaced with a gas station, and the money was long gone. After Britney kicked me out, I crashed with some guys I met in my work, started doing runs for drug dealers and pimps, eventually stopped showing my face in law-abiding society. I haven't had a place to call home in years, so don't tell me prison will be worse than what I have now."

"How did William Sommer contact you?" Sara inquired.

"His situation was a lot like mine. He burned through his money early and started finding other illegal ways to get more. He did some drug dealing, some scamming. He heard I was working the same beat, and he started hiring me to do odd jobs for him. But what he really wanted was to do another bank heist. He asked me to track down Jozebeth and make sure she wouldn't be able to identify him if he got caught. He figured better to go down for one job than two. She wasn't that hard to find. Everyone's got a website these days, even the car shop she works at. I started following her, reporting back to Will, making sure she didn't see me. But then..." he trailed off.

"Then what?" Sara encouraged.

"I remembered a pretty young girl, but the Jozebeth I saw was a beautiful young woman. A beautiful woman who, in spite of everything, all the shit we put her through...she smiled all the time, was nice to people, wasn't even afraid to walk down an alley by herself." He shook his head and sighed. "I couldn't go through with it. I told Will he should leave the girl out of it. He said he would, but I kept my ears open and found out he had started following her himself. That's when I sent him the note. I figured he wouldn't try to kill her at the motel, and he'd told me Arsenio gave him a key to his house, so the next day I went to Arsenio's place to see if he would show up. I was too late. He was beating her, kicking her, and she wasn't even moving. I couldn't believe he would do that. I couldn't believe he _could _do something like that. I shot him. He killed Jozebeth, and I just...couldn't let him live after doing that."

"Mr. Frizzell," Horatio leaned forward, hands folded on the table. "Do you know the legal definition of justifiable homicide?"

The suspect blinked. "No."

"_That _is why you should talk to a lawyer. Jozebeth De La Garza isn't dead. She survived the attack. You saved her life."

"Jozebeth is _alive?_" he asked, tempering his hope with skepticism.

"Yes she is. I'd like to remind you that you can ask for an attorney at any time."

"Okay," he said uncertainly. "Can I have an attorney?"

"I'll make a call."

He and Sara stood up and exited the interrogation room. Natalia was standing outside the door. "Hey. I thought you might want to see this." She handed Horatio the notepad, open to the last page inside a large plastic evidence bag.

"Dear Jozebeth," the letter, written in tiny, neat handwriting began, "You don't know me, but I know you. You are an amazing human being, and you deserve nothing but happiness out of life. I know you've known a lot more than that. I wish I could take away the terrible things that have happened to you. I can't say everything I want to expess to you, but I want you to know that" The letter ended abruptly.

"He was in love with her," Sara stated.

Horatio agreed. "It appears that way."

* * *

Sara hesitantly knocked at Horatio's office door. There was no answer. She waited for a minute, then sadly turned away, and jumped slightly as she came face to face with the red-haired lieutenant. "H, I was just looking for you."

"I rarely make it to my office," he said, smiling with amusement. The smile disappeared in a moment. "I understand that you're leaving?"

"I'm planning on heading out this afternoon. But I didn't want to leave without saying goodbye, and telling you why."

He nodded and opened his office door. "Come in."

Once in the privacy of the impersonal office, Sara had trouble finding words.

Horatio spoke first. "You may be interested to know the DA is not going to charge Frizzell with murder. He's pleading guilty to armed robbery for a reduced sentence. He and Merlo will both be testifying against Arsenio Petersen."

"Good," she said. "It's weird, cases like this where the victim is also a bad guy."

"Not everything is black and white, not even in our business." He paused for a long moment. "Sara, you know, the lab can always use a criminalist of your caliber. If you're interested, you could stay."

She blinked and focused her eyes on the bare desk. "I'm tempted...but if I go back to work as a CSI, it will be in Vegas."

He nodded. He'd expected that. "Okay, but if you ever change your mind...if you ever need anything, I'll be here. You have my number and my e-mail. Promise me, promise me, Miss Sidle, that you'll keep in touch."

She smiled. It was hard to say no to someone so sincere."I promise." She meant it. Somehow she was sure she would someday return to Miami and see Horatio again. But she was also sure that, for now, it was time to move on. "I also wanted to thank you. You've helped me sort some things out. You've actually helped me more than you will ever know."

"I could say the same to you."

She smiled sadly. "Goodbye."

"For now."

Minutes later, Sara walked out into the sunny Miami afternoon. "Now _that_," she said to herself with a smile as she put on dark sunglasses, "was something."

The End.


End file.
